Submerged
by Scavenge-4-Dreams
Summary: *Part 3 of 'As Easy As* Underwater, out of breath. Out of water, out of depth. Two breath for one, And one breathes for five. STONY.
1. Turn off Your Damn Smile

Fingering the cheap cotton of his polo shirt with obvious distaste, Tony sighed for the thirtieth time in as many minutes, whining quietly, "I still don't understand why I couldn't just wear my own stuff. Tony Stark doesn't wear-"

Natasha looked back over her shoulder, her face mostly hidden beneath the wide brim of a gaily coloured sunhat, "Exactly. We're undercover, Stark. _Undercover._"

Not to be left out, Clint's voice sounded through the comm system, "Tony Stark is 'Armani' or 'grunge rock'. You are 'Nice man enjoying afternoon in park with girlfriend'".

Looking across the park, to where Clint was leaning nonchalantly against his skateboard, low-slung jeans, offensively scrawled black tee, bandanna and shades successfully concealing his identity, Tony snarked back, "Yeah, and I thought you were 'skater-boy', not 'non-English speaking Chinese man'".

"Yeah well, _I_ still don't understand why you get the gorgeo- _deadly! _Deadlywoman, and I get to wear my pants around my knees. Nat's always _my_ op-partner. " Clint fussed, dropping the board to the ground and kicking off again.

It was Natasha's turn to sigh, adding an eye roll and a mentally voiced 'men', as she explained, "Because Stark wouldn't have been able to resist adding repulsors to the skateboard… This way, I can keep an eye on him. Isn't that right,_ honey?_"

"Whatever you think, _babe._" Tony answered, quietly chagrined, snapping his mind away from the repulsor-to-board blueprints he'd been perusing, to continue, "Don't worry featherhead, you're still mama's favourite…"

Ignoring Clint's sinister chuckle that echoed through their earpieces, Natasha hooked her arm through Tony's, and forcefully dragging him into a slow stroll, whispering into his ear, "Call me 'Mama' again, and I'll throw you in the river."

Tony eyed the stretch of dark water coursing gently along parallel to the foot path, his distaste obvious in the pinch of his lips and narrowing of his eyes. His fear was not entirely faked as he inched away from it, pressing more closely against Natasha's side.

Her murmured apology was barely audible, but the almost bruising grip on his arm relaxed, and the seemingly gentle stroll relaxed into just that.

The silence barely lasted two minutes.

"Whose idea was this anyway?" Tony muttered, freeing his arm from Natasha's loose grasp as he added, "Brilliant, _brilliant_ idea! Sure- let's assign the clandestine op to the guy with the twenty-eighth most recognisable face on the planet. Hello, famous, world-recognisable billionaire here."

"_Infamous,_ maybe…" was Clint's snide remark, his teasing grin all but heard from across the park.

Tony's answering mock snarl was overshadowed by Natasha's reply, "We're hardly asking you to infiltrate an underground syndicate. Keep the cap on, and your voice down…you'll be fine."

Tony didn't look overly convinced, and Clint was quick to add his own style of assurance, "Billionaire-brat Tony Stark, is the last person anyone is expecting to see here. What reason could anyone possibly think you'd have for coming to the park at four in the afternoon- a turn on the see-saw, maybe?"

"Hey! That's '_Genius, _billionaire-brat'_._ And I'm just saying..." Tony quipped back, determinedly yanking the cap down further, while casting 'furtive' glances around.

Before Tony really did draw attention with his suspicious behaviour, Natasha reached out and grabbed his arm again. Enclosing it in her own less than comforting grasp, she explained, "Thor and Steve are both too physically noticeable, their size just screams "look at me", and, Bruce may be nondescript, but the hulk isn't".

Giving up after the first attempt at extricating himself failed miserably, Tony answered, a slight whine to his voice, "Why not just the two of you then? I thought this was your thing... Why the third wheel?"

"On the very small off chance that the reports are true, and Doom's mutated lackeys_ have_ set up home base somewhere in this play park, a little brute strength and fire power mightn't go astray. You're our muscle, Ironass." Clint explained.

Tony gestured pointedly, or tried to, Natasha subduing the flamboyant movement, and replied with all the vindicated insult Tony Stark could muster, "Ah ha, I knew it! You're all the same. Everyone just wants me for my… gold-titanium alloy, AI interfaced, mechanically engineered suit of armour."

Clint, of course, couldn't let that lie, and immediately needled, "Everyone!? So _that's _what Steve see's in you. Captain America has an Iron-armour kink!"

Trying to fluster Tony Stark with talk of sex was less than successful. "Of course he does, the suit is sexy as shit…" Tony answered smugly, continuing, "Iron-armour? As in, the Ironman armour? Is that's a thing- please tell me that's a thing. How did I not know that was a thing? More importantly, how do _you_ know that's a thing?"

"Even the best of us get sucked into the bowels of YouTube - Now shut up and keep your eyes open." Clint griped, turning to do another round of his concrete playpen.

Blatantly ignoring Clint's order, Tony turned to Natasha, asking, "What exactly are we looking for anyway? Giant three-headed Italians? Glowy people playing in the sandbox? What about those kids - those kids look decidedly suspicious. Look at them… _Playing._"

The small smile that hitched the side of Natasha's mouth said a lot about just how much this group of imbeciles had gotten under her skin. The amount of sheer scandalised dismay that the genius had injected into that one simple word, though- she had to admit. He was occasionally very funny. Occasionally.

Sweeping her gaze up the path, following Tony's projected line of sight, Natasha focused on the children in question. In the space of 12 seconds, she saw so much.

There were four of them, two boys and two girls, scattered apart a short distance along the water's edge. The resemblance between them, even at this distance, screamed 'siblings', and indeed as she and Tony drew closer, Natasha was able to label the largest, a boy of about 8, as the oldest brother.

Like his younger siblings, he had a mop of blond hair that settled almost to his shoulders in a wash of sun-bleached tangles, although was starting to darken in a way often typical of early puberty. Seated against the bank, in a position only attainable by children and super spies, the boy was armed, a stick clutched in one hand – frog hunting of course.

By his side, half in the shadow of his older brother, was the smallest of the group – the other boy. Natasha would guess about two or three years of age; he hadn't lost that toddler chubbiness, nor his adorable clumsiness yet as he played in the mud at the water's edge. She wondered if perhaps someone should move the littlest away from the water, but a word from one of the girls had the oldest shaking his head ruefully, and tangling his free hand in the baby's t-shirt. Secured then.

The two little girls, further up the bank, shared colouring, features and matching outfits, one in pink and the other yellow, and Natasha's first thought was 'twins'. An instant later she reassessed her opinion, and decided that there was at least a year, if not two, between them.

The little girl in pink was the one who had spoken to the older boy, and Natasha immediately labelled her as 'the leader of the pack'. Blonde of course, with just the first hints of darkening around the roots, she stood at even height with her sister, but was definitely the older of the two. Her hair was bound into a messy ponytail, tangles and snarls speaking of a rough and tumble attitude, messy smears and dark patches at her knees supporting this.

The younger, in yellow, was Ying to her Yang. Quite, introspective almost, listening intently as her older sister chatted away, almost hanging on each word. She was neat, tidy, her straight blonde hair falling in a shiny layer to her shoulders.

The older, while the more dominant in personality, seemed to also have the instincts of a borne protector, placing herself at the water's edge, and keeping a tight grip on her sisters hand.

Natasha could see, in the way she related to her siblings, and her bone structure, and limb length, that the little girl in pink was likely to be dynamite when she grew older – lots of attitude in a tiny package. A girl after her own heart then.

Wandering passed the boys, and slightly further upstream, Tony and Natasha passed by the two little girls, who were moving the opposite direction. They got a glance from both, a shy smile from yellow, and a beaming grin from pink.

**_It was Tony's fault._**

He smiled back.

Natasha saw the instant recognition lit in the older girls face. She prepared for shouts of "Tony Stark!" to ruin their cover. She waited for the camera flashes, and the inevitable disaster that their mission was about to become.

The little girl opened her mouth, Tony winced, and Natasha waited.

The little girl closed her mouth, Tony winced and Natasha waited.

The girls walked away, the elder's voice carrying back over her shoulder as she answered something the younger had said, "…y Stark? Dressed like that? No way."

Natasha slapped Tony upside the back of the head, "Really. Turn your damn smile off."

Tony, still grinning, rambled back, "Why? She didn't recognise me. I'm great at this undercover thing- I'm awesome. I'm thinking underc-"

"Look over your shoulder." Natasha instructed, slowing their walking pace while Tony did so.

…

…

"…..She _winked _at me!" Tony snapped back around, a flabbergasted look on his face.

"Turn your damn smile off", Natasha reiterated.

Tony stopped smiling.

"Schooled by a six year old!" Clint crowed over the comm line, "Even _she's _a better undercover agent than you!"

"Funny- for a _Skater-boy._" Tony snarked back, stopping himself from looking over his shoulder again.

Clint, stopping to lean against the concrete barricade, started to shoot back, "At least skater-boy's better than h-"

A deep rumbling noise cut him off, filling the air with a heavy sense of impending danger.

And then the ground shifted. Rolled. And began to shake.

All thoughts of cover blown, Clint's board dropped where he stood, wheels still spinning as he took off running, across the park toward Tony and Natasha, shouting, "Quake! Everyone get down!"

As the earth shuddered and shook beneath them, people ran for their families, gathering their children and pulled them to the ground.

Natasha and Tony's eyes flew to the river bank behind them, but the group of children had already moved away, a mass of blond heads grouped together under the protective arms of their parents a few meters back from the water.

Sighing in relief, Natasha folded to the ground, her hands snagging a wailing child as he was tumbled off his running feet beside her. Pulling the dark hair boy to the ground, she looked around, quickly making eye contact with a concerned mother, a further two children under her arms.

Receiving a nod of unbelieving gratitude, coupled with the promised of possible retribution, Natasha pulled the boy to her body, cradling him carefully as the ground roiled beneath them, threatening to throw them apart.

Clint, curled to the ground several metes away, a young woman and a baby held securely, caught the other two's Avengers eyes, nodding that he was fine.

Everyone was hunkered down, holding on and riding it out. A tree creaked ominously, but no one was near it. The ground split, and a couple scrambled away from the small chasm that gaped from the earth.

Everything was chaos and confusion and everyone seemed to be in control.

A buzz of heightened worry. Then a scream.

A mother's absolute terror.

"_Carrie!"_

The little girl in pink, further along, by the water's edge. Fear in her eyes and desperation in her moves as she scrambled up the slowly eroding bank.

At the rate the bank was crumbling, and the speed she was moving, the little girl – Carrie- wasn't going to make it away from the river.

Tony didn't think, didn't look to see if anyone else was closer. ... he just lunged for her.

The riverbank collapsed beneath his feet, the extra weight pushing it from 'crumble' to 'slide', and Tony and the little girl disappeared into the dark writhing water.

Amidst tonnes of wet, cloying mud and rock.

And when the shaking stopped, seconds, minutes or hours later – neither surfaced.

* * *

I hope that wet some appetites :)

Now, we all know that this series is about breathing, or lack thereof, so dont expect Tony to get off easily.

But I'm hardly going to kill him. Permanently.

Tune in soon for more, I promise buckets of angst, oodles of fluff and maybe a bit of smarm. With Steve!

Happy Reading :)


	2. Bubbles Go Up

_Tony didn't think, didn't look to see if anyone else was closer. ... he just lunged for her._

Six steps away, and a particularly violent shudder almost threw him from his feet. His gaze zeroed in on two tiny hands, scrabbling wildly at slick mud, slipping and sliding, but finding no purchase, no stability, and somehow he kept his own.

Five steps away, too far, too late. His brain supplied the calculations that supported the impossibility of his actions. The mother's voice rang in his ears, a shrill untempered terror, the fear of unimaginable loss. His heart steadfastly disregarded his mind, refused to believe that he couldn't do this. That he wouldn't be able do this.

Four steps away, and she stilled, stopped fighting and looked up. He could see her eyes. The whites of them, huge around a ring of colour he couldn't quite make out. Blue, maybe. Filled with despairing terror, and a hopelessness that no child should feel.

Three steps away, and his own eyes suddenly lit on the massive backdrop of swirling, writhing water. His heart shuddered, slipped a beat and felt like it thumped physically against the arc reactor, such a jolting pain the fear suddenly caused. He almost stopped.

Two steps away, and her eyes met his. Green, not blue, with an almost pale quality. Her terror became hope, and his, determination.

One step away, and he slipped, the rubber soles of his shoes useless against the filthy slick of the eroding riverbank. His weight carried him down, feet going out from beneath him, his body slamming into the shuddering ground. He backpedalled futilely against the force of the sliding soil, as the wet and cloying earth beneath his body sucked him down with a low squelching gurgle.

The ground gave one last vicious tremor, the mud almost physically rolling in on itself, and then the slow crumble of the bank gave way to a full-tilt land slide. He had time only to breathe in, once, before the water rose up to meet him in a wash of dark that engulfed him.

It didn't matter though, because Tony had her, tucked into his arms.

* * *

Fighting desperately to find his feet, while still maintaining his hold on the little girl cradled in his arms, Tony frantically tried to surge upright, ignoring the building terror at the back of his mind. He stifled a cry as the first sheet of tepid water splashed across his face, and closed his eyes on the muted blue sky as it disappeared into a blur of grey silt and mire, rapidly turning to inky blackness as they were dragged beneath the surface by the weight of the cloying mud sliding beneath them.

And then the bulk of the formally compacted bank dropped, and the weight of the water disturbed the neatly packed mud, sending it plunging into the river proper, creating a churning roiling mess of rock, mud and water, indifferent to the fragility of the humans caught in its path.

Suddenly wrenched away from the suction of the mud that had held him so firmly, Tony was flung head over heels, losing all sense of which way was up, and which way was down. Something hard slammed into his lower back, and he gasped involuntarily, choking on the filthy river water that invaded his lungs, burning as he coughed and spluttered, and was sent spinning out of control.

He itched, _burned_ to thrust his wrists out, to call the suit – but doing so would mean letting go. Unacceptable. Unable to do anything to stop the rough tumble, completely helpless and at the mercy of mother nature, Tony focused on the only thing he could.

The little girl was unmoving in his arms, and Tony hoped it was terror paralysing her and not injury. Dragging her closer, and curling about her as best he could, he used his own body to create as much of a barrier around her as possible, one hand cradling her head against the concave of his chest, the other wrapped about her lower body as tightly as possible.

A sharpness sideswiped him from the left, a glancing blow that left a path of fire down his right leg, from thigh to knee, and he curved in tightly against the pain, trying desperately not to spasm outward.

Tumbling and rolling, tossed and bucked, spinning and turning and pounded mercilessly from all sides by sharp stings, heavy thuds and mud – so much mud.

And then, suddenly, they simply stopped moving, furrowing into a thick layer of silt, as a heavy weight spread over the back of his legs- another layer of mud, creeping over them, _covering_ them.

Tony broke into fierce movement, fighting against the weight that crept over his back, ignoring the aches and pains as he desperately struggled to get out, even to just _roll over_ – he was going to crush the little girl, bury her beneath him.

He fought like a wild thing, all his strength and a little more besides, desperate, _frantic_ to not be stuck face down, to not have her _under him._ The weight of the mud was just too much though, he was too exhausted, too injured and didn't have full use of his body, and desperation wasn't enough.

As the mud slicked its way up over his waist, Tony felt his hip push down onto a fragile leg an almost sickening amount, and he waited to feel a sickening pop, hating himself.

It hit him with the force of a small car, smashing into his left shoulder, sending agony radiating down the limb and across his chest, followed by a shocking numbness. He screamed as the force of the blow carried his upper body with its trajectory, wrenching his lower body and legs into a nauseating twist.

* * *

Sharp tugs of pain managed to fight their way to the forefront of Tony's receptors. The hazy shadow that had been trying to lull him to sleep fled as he choked on mouthfuls of disgusting mud.

He had a rock the size of Dummy settled over his lowered body, no feeling in his left arm, fire down his right leg and a myriad of other aches and pains.

He smiled.

He was on his back, and the little girl was frantically pulling on his hair, writhing against his lock hold, desperate for air. A quick check ensured that all limbs were accounted for – somehow, _somehow (Tony was thanking every known deity to man)_ she wasn't pinned beneath the rock.

She was alive. Now he just had to get her to the surface.

Which way was the surface?

Surface was up.

Generally.

Surface was air.

And air had surface.

Up.

Up?

Bubbles go up.

The last trickle of air Tony could force from his lungs slowly bubbled up, sliding around his hand with a gentle tickle.

The last ounce of strength Tony could find in his battered body shoved at the girl cradled against his chest – sending her shooting upward, toward the surface and air. Toward her mother and father, her siblings.

Family.

Where Tony could not follow.

* * *

A?N-

Love hearing what my readers think, so if you have the time, please review :)

Cliffy. Dont hate me too much, I can't help it.

It's a condition.

So. This be what has happened.

Now for the breathing issues.

Happy Reading :)


	3. Little Yellow Streak

The young woman gasped as the ground shuddered more strongly beneath them, and Clint looked down with a reassuring smile. Fisting his hand into the grass, he secured her more tightly against his side, careful of the blanketed form of the baby clutched to her chest.

Somewhere to his far left, a woman screamed, a horrible cry of fear and loss. A name, perhaps, of a child or loved one, but the voice was lost in the cacophony of panicked shouting and the low rumbling of shifting earth.

Looking up again, driven to check, the archer's eyes once again immediately searched out those _he_ cared about. Zeroing in on Natasha, he met her own steady observation with a nod, while assessed the stability of her position, and that of the little boy in her arms.

Satisfied that she was as safe as could be expected, Clint turned slightly, his gaze sweeping behind Natasha, to where Tony had been kneeling only seconds ago.

Only, the area, recognisable by a small grassy knoll and half warn foot track, was now empty.

Clint was already halfway to his feet, ignoring the woman clutching at his arm, when he stilled, his horrified gaze captured by a sudden movement further upstream. His brain caught up to his eyes just in time to watch as Tony, arms wrapped around a shock of bright pink, was tumbled off his feet. An instant later, before Clint could even shout, the muddy bank just – _gave out,_ sliding into the river with a ghastly squelch…taking Tony with it.

* * *

The last rumbling shudder settled, and an ominous silence blanketed the small park.

Clint was on his feet and almost to the river before anyone else could move, skidding to a stop beside the collapsed bank. Kicking off his shoes, he prepared to launch himself into the water, only to have his arm caught in a vice firm grip, as Natasha dragged him back a step, exclaiming, "What are yo-! Oh my g-Tony? "

Seeing the look of horrified comprehension blossom across her face, Clint nodded frantically and pulling away from her lax hold, he prepared to dive in.

"No! Wait-" Natasha shouted, grabbing his arm again, and Clint turned to brush her off-_ didn't she know that every second Tony was- That every second counted. _

Before he could open his mouth though, an inhuman shriek cut through the air and a young woman catapulted between them, intent on throwing herself into the river, a desperate cry of "_Carrie!_"on her lips.

Clint caught her about the waist, the force of the motion lifting the woman off her feet and the archer swung her around in a wide arc, before dragging her back against his chest in a secure lock hold.

_Natasha always had good reasons._

"Ma-am, please. Wait-" Clint tried to reason with the sudden wild creature in his arms, as she thrashed and screamed, repeating the same word _–"Carrie!"_

Pinning her more forcefully, Clint looked to Natasha for help, nonplussed by the woman's apparent hysteria, although having a strong hunch.

Natasha pressed in close, ensnared the woman's face with both hands and held her in place until their eyes met, before she spoke in a deadly calm voice that demanded attention and had no problems holding it, "Look at the water. If you jump in now, you'll get dragged down, and likely killed – you're no good to your…_daughter_…dead. "

As she spoke, Clint's own eyes went to the water – the swirling, writhing, bubbling mess of choppy waves and floating hunks of debris, and knew that Natasha's words were also meant for him. He knew she was right, but some instinctual need still drove at him to ignore common sense and just dive in, just get Tony out. That if he could just get Tony out and to a hosp-.

"I'm so stupid! God – An ambulance, we need an ambulance…." Clint cried, trying to dig through his pockets to find his stupid Stark phone- _which he'd left in his bag when he'd hit the skate park. _ And they'd been using the goddamn closed circuit comm system. Only Tony's had a direct link to Jarvis. Goddamn it all to hell! "Nat – have you got your phone-"

"My husband was ringing-" came the upset woman's raw voice. Something in Natasha's calm detachment had obviously gotten through to her. She hadn't exactly calmed, understandably, but the fight had gone out of her, leaving a gasping, sobbing mess in Clint's grasp.

She was still, but he wasn't fool enough to release her just yet. Instead, he did one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do – he stood and made small talk while one of his best friends was possibly drowning somewhere less than 50 feet away.

"Thankyou – I should have thought of it earlier. I'm Clint, and this is Nat, - your little girl, Carrie? Wearing Pink?" he asked, staring at the writhing surface of the water, begging it to settle quickly.

The young woman sobbed on her first attempt at an answer, but a deep breath later and she visibly pulled herself together, answering shakily "Carrie-Anne. She's 6. Pink's her favourite colour." She took a gulping breath and then added, "I'm not – I'm not a bad mother. Please, she needs me. I thought I had her, my husband- I didn't even see her. But I'm not a bad mother.….?"

Surprisingly, it was Natasha who answered, compassion and gentle reassurance leaking from her carefully retrained tone, the lower register of deep concern only audible to Clint, " I think we saw Carrie earlier, with a little girl in yellow- her sister?" The woman gave a broken nod, and half glanced over her shoulder.

Clint followed her gaze, slightly taken aback to notice the steadily increasing ring of onlookers, but only because their presence_ had_ gone unnoticed, to both himself _and Natasha_. In all honesty, he couldn't care less if they were paparazzi, nosy neighbours, genuinely concerned citizens or Doom's mutated lackeys.

It wasn't until he saw an overwrought man kneeling on the ground a few meters away, cell phone clenched to his ear as he spoke urgently, that Clint's attention stilled. The man's gaze was distraught as it leapt between the screaming boy in his arms, and the vast stretch of water, desperately wanting to be in one place, yet needed dreadfully in the other as well. The littlest boy, cradled against the man's chest, had obviously fallen during the quake, if the odd angle of his arm was any indication. A second child, the little girl in yellow, was draped over her father's back, leaning against his shoulder with huge wet eyes, and the oldest boy was curled in against the small huddle, one hand holding his sisters and the other worrying at his father's shirt hem.

The family. What that little girl had to come back to. Why that little girl _had_ to come back.

Did Tony know he had something to come back to as well? A reason why he _had_ to come back?

Clint dragged his attention back to the surreal conversation between the two women, his own gaze riveting on the surface of the river, along with the other two sets of eyes, despite the words shared between them.

Natasha continued, "You're not a bad mother when your little girls can smile and giggle like those little girls."

The woman half nodded, but her face crumpled and she moaned, " - please, I- I can't, I need to-", as she tried to pull away from Clint, who wanted to allow her, if only so he could follow her.

Distracting her, and putting his own rambling thoughts into words, the archer answered, "I know. _I know_- that man he's our be-"

The woman actually turned her head to look up at him. The complete bafflement on her face would have been funny in almost any other situation as she asked, "What man?"

"Our friend- Tony. He had her when they went under- trust me, if anyone can keep your little girl safe, it's Tony." Clint answered, the truth of his words ringing strongly in the conviction of his tone. He honestly believed that Tony would put life and limb on the line to save that little girl.

That was what he was worried about.

Strangely, it was the woman's sudden quietness, the minute relaxation of her body in his hold, and the tangible renewal of her hope that destroyed Clint's will power, and letting her go, he said, "Nat, I can't wait any longer- I'm the strongest swi-"

Clint suddenly found his voice drowned out by an overwhelming buzz of noise and movement as their apparently massive crowd of onlookers unexpectedly buzzed with unison gasps and outcries.

His heart leapt into his chest with hope, and his stomach bottomed out with dread. Clint spun _away_ from the noise, to face the river, and-

The little girl had surfaced.

Paddling weekly against the still swirling water some twenty feet away from the bank, she was spluttering, coughing, and crying, her hair plastered to her face in wet tangles, but she was alive and beautiful.

Clint was in the water before he made the conscious decision to leap, strong strokes gliding him through the upper surface of the river, propelling him through the thick sediment and long buried roots that still floated, until suddenly he had a tiny pair of arms wrapped in a strangle hold around his neck.

The mother met him half way back to the bank, and Clint happily passed the hysterical child over, unsure how he could possibly be smiling when Tony was still down there somewhere, but unable to help it as the little girl rambled feverishly, every third word a tear choked 'Mummy'.

Perhaps the perfection of the moment was the equally hysterical shrieks of "Ri! Ri!...Riii!", and the little yellow streak jack rabbiting up and down the closest stretch of bank, carefully kept in check by a crying father.

Whatever the case, Clint had more than one type of tears in his own eyes as he turned back to where the little girl had surfaced, and with a deep breath, dove into the dreary world of mud-washed water and dwindling hope.

* * *

Watching Clint dive beneath the surface, Natasha shed her own shoes and sundress, glad in some distant part of her mind for the practical bodysuit beneath, but not really caring at that particular moment. The young mother was approaching the edge, and Natasha, wisely, didn't offer to take her crying, clinging burden, instead offered a hand, and carefully helped pull them up the slippery bank.

The little girls' return to dry lands was greeted with a storm of clapping and cheering from the onlookers, many not realising that the rescue had only just begun. Some considerate individual approached with a towel, which Natasha absently draped around the child, and up over her mother's shoulders, her mind preoccupied trying to determine the most likely spot the girl had surfaced from.

"Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou…." the mother was almost chanting the simple word, but the genuine heartfelt feeling said so much more, more than any mother would ever be able to repay.

Brushing off the thanks, as not necessary, and certainly not hers to receive, Natasha replied, "I need to help Clint. The ambulance will be hear in a minute, I can hear the sirens -"

"There's only one ambulance! We didn't know about- about your friend. We'll – I can. We can call another -" The woman exclaimed, leaning into her husband who had suddenly appeared to wrap an arm about both his wife and daughter, the baby boy in his own arms, and two little shadows pressed in close at their sides.

Natasha, itching to be in the water, looking, _helping, _answered, "Tony. His name is Tony. You need to take the ambulance. Your children need medical care-", when the woman still looked torn, she added, "Please – we have our own help coming. Tony risked his life to save Carrie. He would want you to get her to help. Please."

"Okay. – and please, tell him. Tell him – just. So much." the woman broke off abruptly as the ambulance siren became obvious in the near distance, and with one final "Thankyou", the family moved toward the car park, the crowd parting before them like the red sea, most drifting after them, like bees to honey.

Natasha was thankful that she hadn't had to spend longer convincing the woman, especially when it was the truth – they had their own help incoming. She, Clint and Tony had already missed their last check in by a good four minutes, and with the quake, SHIELD would definitely already have the regulation back-up enroute, including the required medivac. Hoping that the back-up wasn't far away, and intending on giving them something to Evac. when they finally got there, Natasha turned, and started to slip carefully down the bank, when something suddenly occurred to her.

Scrabbling up the slippery slope and sprinting after the slow moving crowd, Natasha yelled, "Wait! – uh- damn!", and realising she didn't know the mother's name, she improvised, and hoped like hell, as she shouted "_CARRIE!."_

Thankfully, one of the parents must have heard, as the group slowed to a stop, and Natasha started forcing her way through the rear of the crowd that sluggishly began to part. Reaching the family, she leant in close to the pale little girl, and gentled her voce, "I'm sorry little one, I know you're cold and sore, but I need your help. Can you do that?"

Ignoring the sudden influx of hard glares that the uninformed members of the crowd were giving her, at her apparent audacity to badger an injured child, Natasha continued, "The man, the one who helped you – did he let you go after you hit the water?"

The nearest bystanders gasped, and several turned back toward the river, just in time to see Clint duck back beneath the surface, and comprehension started to dawn. People loved a 'hero'.

The whispering died suddenly, as the little girl frowned slightly, and opened her mouth, answering, "Tony's very strong! Very, very strong! Of course he didn't let go, not even once!"

The crowd was instantly charmed. Both by the precocious little girl with so much spark, and by her mysterious rescuer who had gained her loyalty with such fervour.

Natasha nodded, replying seriously, "Yes he is, and very brave as well. Do you remember anything about when he did let you go? How he was lying, maybe? "

Carrie closed her eyes, a little pinched look crossing her face as she obviously tried very hard to remember. Green eyes suddenly snapped open, and she swayed in the safety of her mother's arms as a look of dismay swept over her pale features. Huge tears wet her lashes as she answered, "We were going over and over and over – he was cuddling me- and then we hit something and everything stopped. He was so still, and wouldn't move, and he was holding on so tight…I- I'm sorry- I pulled his h-hair! And then he let go. I'm sorry! "

"Shh, hey- hey, it's okay. That was very helpful- thankyou." Natasha said, perhaps a little stiffly in the face of such innocent upset, but unable to stomach the completely unconvinced look Carrie was levelling at her, she tried again, "Do you want to know something else? "At the curious glance and little affirmative head tilt, Natasha added, "_Tony _probably would have pulled_ your_ hair if you'd been the one holding too tight."

The little giggle made her feel much better.

The ambulance pulled into the car park a short distance away, and Natasha turned to the mother again, "Thankyou for letting me-"

The young woman cut her off, "Anything. I mean it. Anything. _Thankyou._"

Unable to think of an appropriate response to such candour, Natasha simply nodded, turned, and hurried back toward the river, uncaring of her own entourage as much of the crowd broke off to follow the 'action'.

The little girl hadn't been overly helpful, but at least she'd confirmed that Tony _was_ likely to be somewhere in the area she'd surfaced. Slipping down the bank and into the water, Natasha's own sure stroke brought her out to where Clint had just resurfaced.

The frustrated shake of his head as she approached told her all she needed to know of his lack of success so far, and he waited the 4.2 seconds it took her to reach his spot.

"I'm following the path of the slide. Carrie surfaced about here, in line with that tree-" the archer took a deep breath and slapped the water, adding dejectedly, "He's got to be here. "He's been in the water almost four minutes, Nat, what if-"

Feeling like it had been so much longer than four minutes, Natasha cut him off firmly, shaking her head as she answered, "No. We're going to find him and he's going to be okay. – Carrie said he held on until he let her surface – so we must be in the right area. Keep. Looking."

And with that, she dove beneath the surface.

* * *

Her world narrowed to a hazy inklike swirling mess of mud and debris, and she thought she'd probably have more visibility with her eyes closed. Two feet in front of her, and everything became a grey blur, slightly darker silhouettes speaking of deeper areas, branches or floating clumps of mud, yet to settle to the bottom.

And it was deep. Much deeper than she'd expected, and as she swam downward, Natasha began to wonder if she was even physically capable of scouring the bottom without a diving suit. She had to be though, they simply didn't have the time to wait.

Her ears popped and her head ached, but finally she touched on mud that was thick and gluggy – part of the bank, making up the current river floor.

She swam in a straight line, or as close as she could estimate was a straight line, hands outstretch, hoping to touch on something soft and Tonyshaped, unable to navigate in any other way.

Soon, _too _soon, her lungs started to scream, and she rocketed to the surface.

A breath of fresh air, a glimpse around showing no signs of Clint holding a waterlogged Ironman, and she dove again.

The image of ironman in her head suddenly begged the question, _why hadn't Tony summoned the suit?_ He'd had the bracelets on earlier in the day, and Natasha _knew_ they worked underwater. It didn't beg for closer thought, and so she focused on the search instead, skimming over a half buried log, fingers trailing in the mud.

Up,

Breath,

Look,

Down,

Search,

Up,

Breathe,

Look,

Down,

Search,

Up,

Breathe,

Look,

Down,

Over and over, until her lungs burned, her head throbbed and her limbs ached.

Search,

Up,

Breathe,

Look,

Down,

Over and over, until her fingers ached from little cuts and scratches from brushing against obstacles.

Search,

Up,

Breathe,

Look,

Down,

Search-

Her fingers trailed along the bottom, scraping along the surface of the glutinous mud, her arms outstretch to each side of her. Just more empty expanse- mud, water, mud, branch, mud, rock-rock-rock-rock, hair, mud, mu-

Hair.

Oh god. _Hair._

She backtracked, finding the huge rock just behind her and to the left, using it as leverage to slide around to where she was sure she'd- _hair._

Specifically, hair attached to a head.

Unable to see in the near blackness and unable to hear over the thump of her own heart, Natasha trailed her fingers through the hair she refused to lose contact with, onto smooth skin and finally over closed eyes.

Still, unblinking, closed eyes. Closed, unmoving lips.

Natasha had to resist jerking her hands away, and instead slipped them down to curl under Tony's arms in a tight hold, and with a tug, she pushed for the surface.

Only to have him slip completely from her grasp as something held him down.

Thrust several feet away in the drab, dark water, Natasha was made unsure of her exact direction by the unexpected release, and was moving by blind instinct and hope as she turned to swim back down.

The hand that connected with her stomach was the most welcome blow she'd ever felt in her life.

Following the shaking spasming path of the arm that was joined to the hand that had attached itself to her side, Natasha was soon back by the huge rock, which as it turned out- was the issue.

Trailing her hands down from Tony's struggling shoulders, she found his chest, hips, and then –rock.

It was huge, easily as big as she herself, and very effectively pinning Tony to the bottom of the river.

Tony who was thrashing and writhing against her, his hand, the one not locked on her hip, was clawing somewhere in the vicinity of his own throat as his lungs burned and scorched and demanded air that he refused to try and breathe.

With no time to think of any other options, Natasha scrabbled about in the dark until her hands found Tony's face, and holding him as still as she could, she swam forward and locked her lips over his.

And breathed.

* * *

A/N-

Sort of not a cliffy. Maybe. If you squint.

- I do promise - this *is* Stony, and one day soon Steve *will* arrive - and I'll make it *so* good for you.

Promise :)

As always, I hope you enjoyed, I love to hear from you - and... Happy Reading :)


	4. What's With The Glowyness?

_Don't breathe._

_ Don't try to breathe._

_ So long as you don't try, you won't realize you can't._

* * *

Fire.

She was a cruel mistress, raking fingers tipped with glowing embers down his left side and across the small of his back, engulfing him within her burning rage.

She was sparking pain, pressing jagged over constant dull ache.

She was excruciating, tormenting, agonizing.

She was welcome.

Because beyond the fire, lay the terror, and Tony would rather feel the mass of agony that was his body, than have to acknowledge the heavy press of water, and the silent screaming need for oxygen that was tearing at his throat for release.

* * *

**His mouth was pressed tight, so as to not swallow more of the disgusting water.**

_So he wouldn't be tempted to scream._

_To breathe._

**His eyes were clenched closed, to protect against the sediment floating in the water.**

_So he didn't have to see the bubbles of his own breath escaping._

_Ghosting over his face like a gentle caress._

_Bubbling up his nose._

_…Waiting for the sparking burn of the battery wired to his hea-_

**Don't think about it.**

* * *

He'd done what he'd had to.

He'd saved her (_god he hoped he'd saved her)._

And now, even trapped on his back beneath so many tonnes of w-(_don't think about it)_, trapped on his back, held immovable by rock and engulfed by fire in a haze of inky blackness- even now, he knew it was worth it.

Even with this (_don't think it)_ - even knowing he would die like this, cold, alone and hurt, it was worth it.

It was worth it.

But some small part of him wished it wasn't.

* * *

His free arm trembled with pain and exhaustion, weakness sapping what little strength he had left, and his intended push became more a caress as his hand scraped along the surface of the rock, before dropping listlessly to his side.

He wasn't the type to just roll over and give in. Wasn't ever going to just let go and accept whatever providence had in mind for him.

Never say never. Not even when never is a small boulder pinning you to the bottom of a river.

It wasn't over until it was over, and no one would ever say Tony Stark wasn't a fighter.

But everyone had a breaking point.

His apparently was- _Steve?_

* * *

Centered in a soft haze of arc-reactor blue glow, Steve was floating several feet above Tony, and slightly to the left. His arms where cross over a glorious expanse of bare chest and light grey sweats clung loosely to his trim waist.

Becoming aware that Steve was talking, Tony dragged his attention away from well-defined abs to listen.

"It's okay, Tony. You don't have to fight anymore. You don't have to be so strong. I love you…you can let go now." Compassion and understanding infused his lover's soft voice, and blue eyes offered no reproach as they bore into him.

Tony quirked his head, answering, "Really? That's what we're going with. Some grand delusion you are. What's with the glowyness? And really- You're not even wet. Also, my eyes are closed and we're talking under water. Come on, you can do better than this."

Steve's eyes narrowed and he stalked forward, hands going to his hips, "It's hardly my fault that your mind wants me to pander to you. I'd much rather tell you to get up off your ass, Tony and fight."

"Better. Still not great though." Tony mocked, "Could use a little more of the disappointed eyebrow, maybe some cursing for effect."

Steve was suddenly looming close, his eyes raging blue beneath sopping wet blond hair plastered across his forehead. His hands found Tony's face, trailing over closed eyes and down to his clenched lips. Leaning in close, he breathed, "Prove that you fucking love me, Tony Stark. Fight."

Tony spasmed wildly at the sudden shock, and Steve pulled away. His Steve. Not some delusion, and Tony lunged after him. His hand finding skin and determinedly locking on.

Steve's eyes burned brightly in the darkness of the water, as he leaned down and pressed his lips to Tony's.

And breathed.

* * *

The sudden influx of oxygen to his starved mind brought Tony back from the brink of passing out, and he immediately recognized the lips on his.

Well, recognized them as definitely not belonging to Steve.

Small, soft and delicately bowed. Feminine.

The airflow cut off as his rescuer started to pull away, and panicking, Tony tightened his grip on the slickly soft material beneath his hand.

She eased away from his exhausted grasp, her hands gentler than Tony would give credit for as they trailed across his chest. As she slowly floated upward, she kept contact with his extended arm, lingering at his fingertips for a moment.

Tony watched as Natasha, a dimly silhouetted shape a few feet above him, kicked for the surface and out of sight.

_God, he might actually get out of this alive._

_And it would be so worth it._

* * *

Kicking upward in as straight a line as possible, Natasha pushed for the surface with haste, urged into greater speed by her spasming lungs.

Bursting through the still swirling water into fresh air, she didn't even waste her first breath, spinning until she saw the water darkened hair of her partner about to descend back beneath the water. She shouted "Clint!" knowing he would hear what she was saying without needing to expand.

The five and a half seconds it took Clint to propel himself through the water toward her, were sheer torture, having to just wait, while below Tony lay desperate for breath.

As soon as Clint was close enough, Natasha began to speak, quickly, not pausing for breath, "He's almost directly below us, pinned by a rock. Alive – we need to breathe for him."

And then she dove, trusting that Clint would follow.

* * *

Somehow, the presence of the rock was almost a godsend in locating their trapped team mate. Even at the depth and darkness of the near bottom, its sheer size allowed a massive dark shadow to mark its location.

Tony was almost completely concealed in the overhang of the rock, all light obliterated by the angle of the afternoon sun that tried determinately to pierce the murky water.

There was no possible way he could see them as they approached, indeed, until they were within a few feet of him, they'd might as well have been invisible.

Yet, he met Natasha's outstretched hand with his own, only his lack of strength stopping him from dragging her to his side.

Natasha went there willingly anyway, her hand trailing his arm and shoulders to find his face before she pressed more air upon him, breathing into his mouth as she ran gentle fingers through his hair, checking for injury.

* * *

Clint turned his attention to the rock.

Although calling it a rock was hardly doing it justice. Small boulder would be more accurate.

Tracing his hands over its surface, Clint found he was unable to reach from one side of it to the other, meaning it was larger than his arms span. Its surface was rough and jagged, as if it had once belonged to another much larger rock, and had been shattered off. The water had not yet had time to erode it smooth.

Careful of sharp protruding areas, Clint followed its edge down and under, finding that the rock was flush against the mud on his side; he was unable to feel Tony at all.

Swimming around to the other side, he did the same, finding the base of the rock with blindly navigating hands.

He didn't know whether to be glad or worried when he encountered the soft flesh of Tony's leg, rather than the slimy mess of muddy river bed.

Having an idea of exactly how the rock was sitting on his friend, and where Tony's lower limbs where most likely to be trapped, Clint set his weight against the far side of the rock, and pushed.

And promptly sunk down to his thighs in soft gluggy mud.

A second, and third attempt from different locations yielded no better results.

His lungs screaming for air, and feeling the back kick as Natasha pushed for the surface beside him, Clint shoved off in her wake, trailing her bubble stream upward.

* * *

"Will it move?"

"Not from beneath. The mud's too thick, I can't get any traction."

"He needs more air. I need to surface faster."

"We could both-"

"No. First priority is get that rock off him. Re-breathing will only last so long."

"What about Steve and the others?"

"SHIELD will have already informed them"

"Any ideas?"

"Can we lift it from above – both of us?"

"Doubtful. Although, with the buoyancy of the water, it's worth a shot."

"Down, try to lift it. Surface. Breath and then back down to breathe for Tony."

"Go."

* * *

Diving beneath the surface yet again, Natasha swan downwards, feeling Clint's descent beside her and slightly behind.

Reaching the rock, she steadfastly ignored the desperate need to reach for where Tony was pinned, knowing he was probably reaching back.

Finding a decent grip on the slick, yet jaggedly surfaced rock was difficult, but with Clint kicking in place beside her, she strengthened her hold and made three popping noises in her throat.

On three, they pulled.

The rock didn't even quiver.

Somehow she knew that a second attempt would prove just as futile, but was unable to help herself from tying anyway.

* * *

"We're not going to move it with just ourselves."

"Can we use something to leverage it – a branch or a pry bar?"

"I don't think so. The mud is too deep, we'd never-"

_"-Can we help! Do you need anything?!"_

* * *

Natasha turned to the bank, and shouted back to the crowded bystanders, unsure which had called out, "No, Thank you. He's trapped beneath a rock-"

"Can a few of us come out and help you lift it-" Someone else called.

Clint immediately went to thoughts of Tony accidentally being stood on, or someone grabbing, pulling, and injuring him more, or a dozen other unpleasant scenario's.

Natasha was obviously entertaining thoughts of the same nature as she answered, "No! We've got help coming. Just stay on the bank-"

Knowing the assassin had the crowd well in hand, Clint dove.

* * *

Finding the rock was almost ridiculously easy the second time down, even without Natasha to guide the way, and within seconds he was by Tony's side.

A hand reached out, only becoming visible in the murky water seconds before it would have collided with his face, and Clint was quick to capture it within his own.

Finding wet tangled hair with his other hand, he leaned closer, and without hesitating, pressed his lips to Tony's, breathing out much needed oxygen.

As he began to pull away, Tony's hand started to tug weakly, but with determination, within his grasp. The Ironman activation bracelet twisted coldly against his hand as he wrapped his fingers around Tony's wrist in reassurance, and Clint suddenly wondered if it could possibly be that easy.

_Ironman._

Following the path of Tony's arm up to his shoulder, and across to the matching appendage on the other side, Clint trailed down he far arm until it disappeared under Tony's back at about the elbow region.

He gave it a gentle tug.

_The ensuing bubbling, gasping scream would haunt Clint's nightmares for the rest of his life._

* * *

Unable to see, and please god don't let Tony's arm be severed and needing to know, but not daring to touch, and having to help, but not knowing how, and _not being able to see…_

* * *

Clint pat Tony's heaving shoulders, running a soothing hand over his chest, trying to gentle his quivering spasms.

Tony went still beneath his hand, and rigid.

And Clint realized he was touching the arc rector, while Tony was trapped underwater.

Feeling guilty and wrecked, Clint kicked for the surface.

_Before he did anything else to traumatize or injure his friend._

* * *

_A/N._

_Reviews__ are love._


	5. Extreme Grace Under Pressure

_He was face down, on his back, and the hand hovering over the arc reactor tightened in the hair at the back of his head. Soft familiar lighting became harsh and unforgiving to eyes that could not close, and the dank darkness ate away at what little hope remained. Sand stung a gritty mess in his swollen parched mouth, as he choked on the filthy tepid water burning its way down his throat. They held him down, beneath the water, and Stane held the arc reactor aloft, triumph a disgusting smirk across his face. Sparks zapped wetly against his chest, and he writhed in breathless, drowning agony, paralysed motionless as betrayal took his heart. _

He was dead.

He was dead, and this embodiment of his eternal nightmare, must be hell.

It was dark.

He was haloed in darkness in a way that should never have been possible again. He didn't look down, _couldn't_, for more reason than there being no light to see by, but because he_ knew _that the reactor was gone.

Taken, stolen, lost – it didn't matter, because it was gone, and without it, he was dead.

Dead and floating, in a muddy river, in a dank cave, in hell.

His hell; forever drowning in the dark.

* * *

Injured, possibly quite severely, trapped in a truly undesirable position, and as someone she knew felt considerably adverse toward being under water, Natasha thought that Tony had been handling the situation with extreme grace under pressure.

**_Had been_** handling the situation with extreme grace under pressure.

* * *

Hands reached for him, grasping, restraining, punishing. _Drowning. _ _Stealing._

Fingers brushed against his face, settling over his cheek, and Tony knew that all betrayal came disguised as a caress. The fingers would slip down his throat soon enough, to lay claim to – but no, because it was already gone.

He the hand away madly, curling in against the darkness that was engulfing him, dreading its touch, but hiding in it just the same.

Something brushed against his hair, and the light glancing touch immediately morphed into a hand, fisted painfully in the snarled tangles at the back of his head. It would keep him beneath the surface, to choke, to drown, to _burn._

He hit out viciously, shoving the unseen form away, writhing through glutinous water that churned in foamy air pockets around him.

* * *

The visibility of the murky water barely gave her enough forewarning to duck the flailing hand that shoved her away, and Natasha lunged backward in the water.

The air in her lungs burned for release, unneeded and desperate to be expelled.

Only it was needed, desperately so.

Swimming forward again, she half slithered over the rock's face, trying to get close enough to be able to take Tony's face with both hands. Close enough to _force_ him to calm down, or barring that, close enough to _force _the collected oxygen down his reticent throat.

The fist that found her stomach forcibly expelled the air from her lungs, and Natasha had to fight against gasping in a stomach-full of disgusting river water.

Tony, calm and collected, seemingly handling the situation with admirable courage, suddenly wouldn't let her near him.

Turning abruptly, she kicked for the surface.

* * *

Clint paddled uselessly above the water, his keen gaze searching the bank for familiar black uniforms, or even better, blond hair. Nothing. No sirens, no red, white or blue._ Come on – where the hell are you guys! We need you- Tony needs you!_

Only able to distract himself from his guilt for so long, Clint turned his attention back to the water, watching as the last glint of Natasha's red hair disappeared into the murky depths. Each freely drawn breath that passed his lips felt like a twist of the knife he'd set between his own ribs. _God, what the hell had he been thinking?_

He hadn't thought anything could be worse than the sound of Tony's guttural agonized screaming gurgle of pain, but the instant silence that had followed Clint's touching of the arc reactor had proved him wrong, with conviction.

The _Arc Reactor._

Clint had seen Tony in the throes of a Stane induced flashback. Seen what unexpected contact with water could do. He'd never wanted to imagine them happening together.

And now he didn't have to. Know he _knew._

Ignoring his own heaving breath, and aching lungs, Clint looked down, unable to see anything, but still searching.

"Come on Natasha – fix just one more of my fuckups. Please."

* * *

Bursting through the bubbling surface ripples, and gasping in deep breaths around rasping coughs, Natasha's gaze swept passionlessly over the gawking crowd gathered at the bank, to settle on Clint, immediately registering his guilt just by the set of his shoulders.

"Is he-? The archer started to ask, but fell silent when he became aware of the fact that he had no idea what the question should be.

Natasha shook her head, replying urgently, "He won't let me near him – what did you do?" Her voice was blameless, she wasn't accusing him, she was just seeking the information she needed to set things right.

"I- The arc reactor. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to-" he trailed off, a gesturing movement against his own chest saying more about what he'd done than his words.

Natasha blanched slightly, a huge lapse for the controlled assassin, but family had a way of finding chinks in even the most impenetrable armour. He voice was measured as she answered, "A flashback, then. Violent."

"What do we do? What _can _we do? Tony will fight tooth and fucking nail before he lets any of us touch him. We need to get him out of the fucking water! Goddamn fucking self-sacrificing jerk!" Clint yelled, anger, hopelessness, guilt and frustration wearing on him.

Natasha was deadly calm, her voice determined as she replied, "That isn't helping, so stop. He's still unconsciously holding his breath, but he needs air. Now. "

The unspoken _whatever is necessary _hung heavily in the air between them.

Clint nodded, replied "I'll hold him." took a deep breath and dove beneath the surface.

* * *

Tony had been waiting.

A reprieve maybe, but a false sense of security, certainly.

He knew the torment would never end. They always came for him, with their shoving, pulling, restraining hands, that wouldn't stop until they got what they wanted, and Tony would _never_ give them what they wanted.

They'd hold him under the water until he choked on his own bile, pressing him into the black void that lay below. He'd writhe with angry, helpless desperation, lungs burning, aching, and he'd never ever stop drowning.

Unable to see, his body a mass of distant agony that burned to his very core, Tony waited.

And as he'd know they would, out of the still darkness, they set upon him.

* * *

Searching hands glanced off his side, seeking and finding him in the shadowy water.

Whatever they wanted, they wouldn't get it from him.

Tony breathed in.

A mouthful of revolting viscous water burning down his throat, invading his lungs and settling heavily in his stomach as he swallowed involuntarily.

A hand suddenly curled around his throat in a bruising grasp, completely blocking his ability to breathe in. A second hand settled heavily on his upper chest, shoving him down, sending fire shooting up and down his body in unimaginable waves of agony.

Tony's eyes snapped open in time to see an inky shadowed form closing in, looming impossibly near, huge in his horizon, sucking any last vestiges of comforting not-dark away.

He bucked weakly against the weight that settled against him, his free hand coming up to alternately scrabble against the fingers locked around his throat and push ineffectively at his _capturer? torturer? murderer?_

The hand sitting just beneath his collarbone shifted, fisting in the dark cotton of his polo shirt, and then suddenly _yanked._

The wash of blue light lit the blackness to a hazy grey, and the inky figure became recognisable as something other than hell spawn.

Tony's mouth snapped closed, and Steve's hand immediately relaxed, sliding away from his lover's throat to curl tenderly around the back of his skull.

His blue eyes where huge with panic and concern, but he simply leant down and locked his lips over Tony's, in an achingly familiar, and desperately needed breath stealing kiss.

* * *

A/N-

Ladies and Gents, I give you Steve Rogers! Everythings gonna be okay now :)

I love to read, I love to write... I love to read the reviews you write :)


	6. Hotdogs or Sushi?

Twenty minutes ago, he'd been jogging peaceably along the sparsely populated sidewalk, taking in the warm sun and calm mid-afternoon atmosphere. The most pressing matter on his mind had been trying to decide if he should bother trying to get Tony into the sushi bar across the street from the park, or if he should just cut his losses and herd his partner to the nearest hotdog stand.

Hotdogs where the easy option. Fast, filling and incredibly tasty. They also meant at least six inappropriate jokes or innuendoes, several obscene gestures and the distinct possibility of Steve turning them into a public spectacle by ravishing Tony and his teasing mouth. Again.

Sushi had the health benefits, with the added perk of being one of Tony's favourite dishes, so there would be little coaxing needed. But with a cross-park journey of more than a few feet needed to reach their destination, Tony was liable to get distracted by any number of inconvenient/unexpected or ridiculous things. They'd be lucky to make it to the bar, _period_, let alone in a timely manner.

And Steve really wanted Tony to eat lunch.

Technically, they'd all eaten breakfast at 6am.

With Natasha's efficient assistance, Steve had cooked a veritable smorgasbord of bacon, eggs, hash and toast, which the majority of the team had set upon with varying levels of unbridled enthusiasm.

Tony's mutilation of a piece of toast while he'd demolished a gallon of coffee hadn't really been what Steve would consider 'eating breakfast' but, at the time, with Tony bleary eyed and of less than sunny disposition, Steve had decided to pick his battles wisely.

He also knew that Tony likely hadn't eaten since, and so had decided to surprise his boyfriend, who was hopefully in a better mood and _awake_, (and very agreeable to escaping undercover duty) with lunch in the park. Or maybe he'd just wanted to see Tony Stark in a polo and khaki's.

_And then the ground had shook, and all consideration of parks and breakfast and inappropriate public behaviour and sushi and coffee and t-shirts and hotdogs had flown from his mind, leaving only one solitary thought behind._

_Tony._

* * *

Within minutes, the quiet Sunday afternoon had turned into a cacophony of panicked shouting, grinding concrete, rumbling earth and screeching brakes. Attempted to ride out the shuddering vibrations on his feet, Steve crouched low to the ground, but continued moving, his concern outweighing his instinct to crumble to the relative stability of the ground.

Fishing in his pocket for a moment, Steve pulled out his sleek silver and red Starkphone, setting his thumb to the read-screen even as he ran. A soft ding indicated that it was unlocked, but the large red **NO** that was displayed across most of the screen (courtesy of said phone's designer no doubt), showed the complete lack of signal.

The lines had to be down. That was the guarantee – the phone would find signal, unless there was no signal to find.

A shuddering screech of breaks sounded from almost directly behind him, and Steve spun around in time to see a car plough into another in an attempt to avoid an overhead street sign that crashed to the ground in a spray of sparks and plastic shards.

Even as he stilled, some small dark part of himself urged Steve to just ignore the man struggling to open the half crushed passenger door. To leave the young woman and her two children crying in other car. Something pushed him to just _get to Tony._

The crushed door parted from it hinges like butter, and he tossed it to the ground with a clatter. Hurrying around to the second car, he helped the young mother from behind the wheel, setting her on unsteady feet, before he turned toward the children, crying and upset in the rear of the vehicle.

He couldn't leave them. Certainly not _for _Tony_. _Not _because _of Tony. Tony would never forgive him, and Steve couldn't say he'd blame him.

In a relatively short span of time, but eons to a man worried about his own loved ones, the children were safely ensconced in their mother's arms.

Released from his responsibility, Steve turned and, neatly sidestepping a young couple hugging on the sidewalk, took off down the street.

Ignoring the last grumbling shudders of the earth beneath him, and the strain of concrete as the ground settled, Steve cut around the nearest corner, abandoning his gentle meandering path for the most direct route.

Lengthening his strides from a lope to a full sprint that rapidly ate up distance, he turned a sharp left, into a darkened alley, only to narrowly avoid a head on collision with a woman who suddenly appeared from a concealed doorway.

"Please! Please Sir, Tommy! The stairs have collapsed-" She was shouting, frantically gesturing to the apartment she'd come from.

_Get to Tony._

Steve followed her inside, bounding up the crumbling staircase, and vaulting the six foot gap, he reached the second floor with ease.

Looking around, Steve called down to the elderly woman waiting anxiously below, "Ma'am, where is-"

A large ginger cat padded across the carpeted floor and wound its way around his ankles.

"…let me guess. _Tommy._"

Seeing the look of complete and utter adoration on the part of the woman's face that wasn't smooshed into ginger fur, Steve couldn't even find it in himself to be angry.

Only concerned for the subject of his own adoration.

* * *

_An expanse of greenery loomed up before him, out-of-place amidst the concrete greys of the cityscape, and feeling the first touch of not-quite-relief, Steve hurtled over a chunk of dislodged sidewalk, and hurried toward the park._

* * *

The park was, putting it bluntly, not overly aesthetically pleasing anymore. Limbs had been torn from trees, taking other branches in their fall to the ground below. Green vegetation was scattered messily across the usually pristine grass. Several small cracks and chasms had split the earth, creating a fine spider-web like lacework across the play area.

There were a few small groups of people, huddled around picnic tables, most likely tending to those with minor injuries. Scratches and bruises, with the occasional bump to the head or broken limb scattered throughout.

Steve huffed a breath of concern as his gaze swept the closest areas, searching for any sign of Tony, Clint or Natasha, but finding none. In fact, there was very little movement at all. No one was milling about aimlessly, seemingly lost for what to do, as Steve had seen on the streets before. In fact – where wa-

At the far side of the park, his gaze settled on the large group of people huddled by the river's edge. Even from such a distance, Steve could feel the tension and excitement that wreathed the crowd, a buzz indicative of peril.

Knowing Tony as he did, he knew his lover wouldn't be anywhere other than in the thick of things, taking charge, and offering the kind of assistance that only Tony Stark could.

Feeling tension mounting in his own breast, Steve set off at a quick sprint across the park, making his way directly toward them.

As he drew closer, he caught a glimpse of two heads bobbing above the water, through the milling crowd. They were some twenty feet out from the bank, and instantly recognisable, one a water-darkened red, and the other a sodden tawny mess.

Of course they were in the water. It wasn't like any of them to stand idly by when help was needed. His eyes swept the people closest to the water's edge, searching for Tony, knowing his lover would be nearby, directing whatever rescue was occurring.

Only he wasn't.

And if he wasn't on the bank…Steve wondered at what desperate act of incredible brave stupidity had led to Tony willingly enter the river.

Closing in on the group, his hearing started to pick up on the general buzz of the crowd, and snatches of what he heard all but froze the breath in his chest.

He waited for that third head to appear, chestnut, darkened to near black.

Only it didn't.

_Or_, and his heart shuddered a jolting staccato beat in his chest, _or, in the thick of things, finding trouble as only Tony Stark could._

* * *

As he reached the riverbank, Steve saw Clint disappear back beneath the water, and seeing Natasha preparing to do the same, he jumped in with a haphazard splash, no time to calculate the dive.

He called, "Natasha!", as he stroked strongly toward her, only relaxing the minutest amount when she turned toward him, because she didn't look calm and self-assured like Natasha _always _looked.

She looked _relieved. _

And then she disappeared beneath the surface.

Only to resurface a second later with an equally relieved looking Clint by her side.

As Steve slowed to an anxious stop beside them, Natasha explained, quickly and efficiently, "Tony is trapped beneath a rock. He's injured. We don't know the extent. He's having a flashback instigated by touching the reactor. We've been trying to breathe for him, but he's panicking. Hurry. "

The last thing Steve heard as he dove beneath the surface was Clint calling, "Just swim straight down!"

Steve swam straight down.

* * *

His searching gaze lit on the dark mass of the rock, and his eyes widened in horror at the sheer size of the thing, at the idea that Tony was beneath _that._

As he caught sight of movement from the corner of his peripheral vision, Steve thanked the stars, and any deity who would listen, for his enhanced abilities. Using the fluttering fingers and pale skinned arm as a beacon, he skimmed around the edge of the rock.

His enhanced 'gifts' suddenly became more of a curse, as he was met with the image of the one person he'd chosen to love most in the world, _absolutely and utterly terrified._

Even in the murkiest patches of water, Steve could still see sickly parchment grey skin, stretch taught across Tony fear pinched face. His eyes were closed, more than just _closed…clenched_, letting in no one and nothing, except the horror of whatever nightmare he was living in.

And there was blood.

Even in the constant movement of the water surrounding him, blood was still managing to spread its way down Tony's left arm, staining across his flank, and floating off into the water in thin tendrils of muted brown.

Steve reached for him, his hand itching to shove the rock away and cradle Tony against his chest, but instead he settled for placing a hand over Tony's right side, reassuring, comforting, soothing.

Tony started violently beneath his touch, and Steve pulled back immediately, terrified that he'd inadvertently pressed on an injury, but his lover was still again.

And then, as Steve watched, Tony simply opened his mouth, and breathed.

Breathed in revolting, filthy river water.

Steve didn't even truly think, he just knew he had to get Tony to stop, and lunging forward, he wrapped one hand around his lover's throat, and _squeezed_, blocking all attempts at breathing in.

Desperately needing Tony to snap out of it- to realise where he was a_nd who _was with him, Steve shoved down with a hand across Tony's upper chest, settled carefully above the cotton concealed arc reactor.

His heart ached at being the cause of the blanch of pure agony that stole across Tony's face, but then brown eyes were open and looking at him, and looking through him, huge and dark with memories of terror, and even with only one hand free, Tony fought against him.

Savagely.

And Steve knew that Tony wasn't seeing him. Wasn't seeing Steve, but it still broke his heart to know that Tony was trapped in the darkn-

Darkness.

_Tony wasn't seeing anything._

Steve ripped the cotton shirt away from the arc rector, flooding the small area around them with a hazy grey light.

Tony stilled, his eyes going wide and disbelieving, and Steve swam slightly closer, trying to prove, to show, that it was him, that he was here, and that everything would be okay.

And then Tony_ was seeing him, _and all Steve could think was _breathe._

The hand that had been locked around his lovers throat in a bruising, crushing grip, slid around to cradle the weight of Tony's head, and leaning forward, Steve sealed his lips over Tony's, almost crying in relief when the oxygen that he offered was eagerly accepted.

* * *

Steve was aware of the fact that he had to surface again. For several reasons, one of those being the urgent need to breathe more air for Tony. But he found that he just could not let go, and from the strength of the fist that was clenched in his shirt, he doubted Tony would be all that agreeable to the suggestion either.

But he needed to surface. Clint and Natasha were waiting. They needed to discuss the rock- what if it was keeping Tony from bleeding out? He needed to know how far away back-up was.

Steve had just pressed his lips to Tony's again, in preparation of pulling away, when a hand landed on his shoulder, and saved him the trouble.

Clint. Tapping Morse code on his shoulder.

_S-H-I-E-L-D_

S.H.I.E.L.D was there, and that meant it was time to go.

Turning to Tony, Steve tapped out the same message on his lovers cheek, and on the third attempt, Tony was alert enough to understand it, if his woozy eager nod was anything to go by.

Pressing a final kiss to Tony's lips, Steve reluctantly pulled away, gesturing Clint in to take his place. With obvious gestures and a mash up of morse and sigh language, Steve demonstrated how he wanted Clint to be ready to carefully pull Tony free once he'd lifted the rock.

And then, praying that the rock hadn't impaled/crushed/severed or broken Tony's lower body, Steve swam above it, set his hands on each side, and _lifted._

His muscles bulged, and he strained against the weight, but as if they'd practiced it a hundred times, the rock lifted, and Clint slid Tony free of its shadow with nary more than a slight tug.

Steve dropped the rock with a fair amount of _shove_ for good riddance, and turned to where Clint was keeping Tony floating carefully against the river bed.

Seeing that Steve was more than ready to go, and knowing that his job here was done, Clint pressed his lips to Tony's one last time, imparting a final lungful of oxygen and then the archer kicked for the surface as Steve carefully gathered his lovers trembling body into a gentle cradle and swam smoothly upward.

* * *

Clint broke the surface first, swimming strongly for the bank where Natasha was already ashore.

The black uniforms of SHIELD officers had set up a human barricade between the crowd and the water's edge, both for the safety of the citizens, and for the safety of the people performing the rescue.

Paddling forward, Clint took in the sheer size of the crowd, and had to wonder how news had travelled so fast when as far as he knew, most communication systems had been down. But travel it had – the crowd was probably 150 people strong, and still growing.

And he supposed, a daring rescue of the man who had almost thrown his life away to save a child was big news, and better news than was usually heard.

As Clint stood in the shallows and waded forward, he was pretty sure that his beaming smile told the state of the current situation better than any words he could find, but he tried anyway, "Steve has him- "

It was an unneeded explanation though, because as Natasha grasped his hand and pulled him from the water, Steve broke the surface several meters out, the waterlogged form in his arms visibly alive and moving.

The crowd broke out into deafening cheers.

Clint didn't know if they were cheering for the rescue, cheering for the man who had save the child, or cheering for the apparent happy ending that had come about against all odds. Perhaps it was a combination of all three, but regardless, there was whistling and clapping, underpinned by the echo of constant rousing whooping.

Clint found himself smiling.

Between them, he and Natasha managed to get Steve up the bank and onto dry land with no unnecessary jolts, and standing to his full height, the Captain pulled Tony more securely into his embrace.

The paleness of Tony's face, the pinch around blue tinged lips and the gentle tremble that shivered through his own body, but did not originate in it, were enough to set Steve on his way, searching for the promised medical help.

The flashing lights of the Shield Medi-vac vehicle beckoned from just beyond the crowd, and several non-descript, black-clad agents started efficiently clearing a path through, most of the gathered people willingly stepped aside with a proud nod as Steve and Tony passed.

_There's always one though._

"Sir's! Sirs, can I ask you a few questions! I'm with the Herald! Is it true- you jumped in after a young girl?!" The man pushed his way to the front of the crowd, shouting his questions from _just_ the far side of the _S.H.I.E.L.D barricade._

Clint surged forward, ready to shove the man back, possibly with a well-placed knuckle sandwich, but it was too late, the reporter was still shouting, "Do you know each other – is that why you saved hi- Oh My God, It's Tony Stark!"

The crow perked up like sharks after chum had been thrown in the water, buzzing conversations burning the Avengers ears as the hurried through the sudden gauntlet.

'-tark, must have been a camera nearby!'

'Maybe he just fell in. – '

'He's a good person –No, really!'

'Maybe he grabbed the girl trying to save himself!'

'Didn't you see him save those people over the river- hooked 'em up like connect-a-monkey!'

'Why the hell would _Tony Stark _try to save a child1?'

Tony was too gone with pain care beyond trying to save a little face, his eyes where held at half-mast through sheer force of will, and little hitched panting breath's where consciously muffled against Steve's chest.

Steve was too worried to take offence, his entire world, and all his ability to care, completely consumed by the man whose blood was starting to stain his clothes.

Natasha was fuming, but had her hands full bullying the suddenly braying crowd out of the way, determination shoving aside the anger, needing to get Tony to the waiting help.

Clint was blind with rage.

Stepping up, he let loose a piercing whistle between fingers and clenched teeth. The crowd spun to face him.

"That man," he gestured to Steve's back, but obviously meaning Tony, "-Is the bravest, most selfless, completely ridiculous asshole I've ever met. Three years ago he flew a nuke through a one-way wormhole to outer space to save a city and millions of lives. Today, he jumped into a mud-swollen river to save the life of one little girl. Who knows who he'll be saving next week? It could be you."

The crowd had gone deathly silent, all eyes riveted on Clint as he spoke, his voice infused with such pride that it was unmistakable to the ear as he finished, "He's Ironman. He's Tony Fucking Stark. He's a goddamn superhero."

* * *

A/N- Hope you enjoyed. If so, please review :)

Here comes the Stony angst/fluff.


	7. Cos he can fly, you Know

_(1) __ Late Sunday Afternoon_

The continual echoes of shuffling footsteps and the quiet buzz of hushed voices invaded the whitewashed hospital room, and Steve was grateful, if only because it broke the stifling silence.

It was an environment that each of them had become far too well acquainted with in the recent years, met with contrasting thoughts and feelings. Sometimes it was a place of healing and safety, a haven. And sometimes it was a place of remorse, and sorrow, of death.

Whatever the case, it was always, first and foremost, a place of regret, of fear and concern. And right now, sitting with a smaller, colourless hand cradled gingerly within his own, Steve knew without a doubt that this particular visit to the hospital would forever rest in his mind as one of the worst days of his entire life.

They'd almost lost him.

_Steve _had almost lost him.

Still could.

The low hum and quiet staccato beep of the monitoring machines provided a soft backing track to his worried thoughts, chasing the melody of 'what if and if only' about his mind with an almost reassuring quality. Enhanced hearing picked up every tiny fluctuation within the steadiness of the rhythmic sound, and translated each soft resonance into 'he's still here'.

Because that was the only truth he could stand to think about.

The truth in which Tony was alive, breathing and still with him.

As opposed to the truth in which Tony hadn't said a word after they'd pulled him from the water. How Tony had yet to wake after falling into unconsciousness in the back of the shield Medi-vac. How Steve had overheard hospital staff bandying about terms such as 'oxygen deprivation' and 'brain damage'.

Steve just… he just couldn't.

"You'll be okay."

Steve didn't realise he'd spoken aloud, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known whether it was a statement of fact, a question, a plea, or an order.

Needing to touch, (_really, impossibly, needing to hold)_, Steve rocked closer to the bed on the flimsy legs of the precariously overwhelmed plastic visiting chair, and gently brushed away a dank lock of hair that had setted stickily against Tony's forehead. Smoothing it back into place, he ignored the awful stench of naturally foul water sediment, and pretended his hand wasn't shaking.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his unpleasant thoughts, and Steve turned his attention to the door, watching silently as Bruce pulled it closed again as he entered.

Padding silently across the room to come to a stop on the far side of the bed, the physicist quietly took in the general atmosphere of the room and the status of its two inhabitants, before asking "Where are the others?"

Startled, Steve blinked once or twice, and swallowing his half prepared answer about Tony's state, he answered distractedly, "Oh- uh. Clint and Nat where filthy, so they've gone to shower and change. Thor is… I- I guess I don't know where Thor is. Where were you?"

It wasn't said in a particularly sharp or accusatory manner, but Bruce still flinched slightly, unable to ignore the ashen form of his best friend on the bed between them, and the fact that he hadn't been there to stop it.

Steve didn't seem to notice Bruce's silent self-incrimination, which said more to Bruce than if he had.

"A bridge collapsed, apparently Hulk held it up, while Thor got people off", the scientist explained, continuing, "You're filthy as well Steve. I've got your ready-bag, why don't you have a quick wash off in the bathroom, and get some clean, dry clothes on."

Steve looked down at himself, seemingly surprised by the mud encrusted state of his clothes. "Huh. I – yeah. But I can't just yet. He's-"

Bruce wondered around to the other side of the bed, digging through the bag that hung at his side as he did, pulling out a pair of tracks and a sweatshirt. "You don't want that mud to make Tony unwell- just a few minutes."

Steve's head tilted down towards his own clothes again, but his eyes didn't leave Tony, as he replied, "A few… How do I- What if he- "

"I won't leave him. I'll stay right here beside him the whole time. Leave the door ajar and I tell you if he so much as twitches." Bruce cajoled lightly, turning Steve toward the bathroom door with a gentle nudge, pretty sure that the other man wasn't even aware that he'd stood up and reached for the change of clothes.

"Okay. Ajar. Alright. Just a minute or two", the blond half muttered as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The feeble push Steve gave it didn't really close the door behind him, and Bruce was more than a little grateful for the clean line of sight as he surreptitiously watched the man fumble with the shower taps, wincing as steam billowed out over the top of the glass enclosure. "Steve, make sure the water's not too hot, these hospital showers are finicky", he called, and he breathed a sigh of relief as more fumbling led to a distinct reduction in steam, as the cold water was turned on.

Steve stepping into the shower fully dressed cemented Bruce's already fairly firm diagnosis of shock, but given the state of his clothes, it probably wasn't an overly bad idea anyway.

As the physicist had expected though, within a few minutes of being under what he hoped was at most, slightly too warm spray, Steve seemed to start to come back to himself, if the shuddering breath was any indication.

The trembling of broad shoulders and soft hitches of breath spoke to tears, but if there were, only one man would be able to absolve them, and so, as Steve started to strip down properly, Bruce turned the majority of his attention to Tony.

He could see the building fever in the high points of red that graced otherwise parchment grey skin, and from the state of the one arm he could see, Bruce doubted that he'd find much area under that hospital gown that wasn't a mess of cuts and bruises.

Even without reaching for the chart hanging from the bottom of the bed, Bruce could see the tall tale swelling of a severely broken arm, and dislocated shoulder. The chart added 24 stitches in two locations, blunt force trauma to the head, three broken ribs, and a body covered in moderate to severe bruising and mild lacerations.

"What have you done to yourself this time?" He asked quietly, gently patting the same hand he'd just pulled Steve away from.

"Not to himself." Bruce looked up to where Steve was yanking the sweatshirt on halfway between the bathroom and the bed, having to backtrack and think about what he'd almost unconsciously muttered before he understood what the Captain was saying.

"What _did _happen?" Bruce asked, "JARVIS told me that Tony was at the hospital, but he didn't have many details."

Slumping back into _his_ seat that groaned theatrically beneath his weight, Steve reclaimed _his _hand, and replied, "-I'm not really sure. He just- He saved someone or helped someone and…He ended up pinned to the bottom of the river. He was drowning."

Knowing how Tony felt about water, Bruce couldn't even think of something to say in response. His gaze caught the black shadowed bruising around Tony's closed eyes, and he wondered what nightmares were happening beneath them.

Something caught in Steve's throat, some horrible unspoken terrible fear, and Bruce looked up the captain stumbled over his words, desperate to ask, but not really wanting to know the answer, "He was under so long Bruce- what if he… He hasn't woken. Hasn't even moved. The nurses were saying that-"

"Don't. Don't write him off. Work with what you _do _know. He's strong. He's tough – come on… " Bruce pushed, knowing that if Steve gave in, Tony wouldn't even bother fighting.

A half grin chased its way across Steve's face, and Bruce breathed a silent sigh of relief as he heard the answering reply of, "He's as brilliant as he is resourceful. And twice as Stubborn. "

Bruce squeezed Steve's shoulder, saying, "Exactly. You'll see. Any minute now Tony's going to wak-"

The monitors went haywire.

After a split instant of heart attack inducing terror, Bruce realised that it was more a positive spike in brain activity than anything negative, and with an almost rueful shake of his head, he calmed a ready to panic Steve, saying "Well, he hasn't lost his ability to time his entrances. He's trying to wake up, Steve. "

Leaping to his feet, and half crowding over the bed, Steve spoke quietly and calmly, and in exactly the manner Bruce would have coached him to, "Tony? Tony- everything's okay. Just breathe. Open your eyes for me. That's it… "

Brown eyes blinked lazily up at them, dull and vacant as they rolled around the room without focusing on anything in particular.

Bruce's heart leapt into his mouth, but he bit it back savagely, looking for any sign that Tony was, well- _Tony._

Ignoring Steve's almost urgent plea's to _look at him_, Tony's eyes dipped closed again, his lashes fluttering slightly on his cheeks.

Cupping the side of Tony's face with one hand, Steve didn't get further than the first choked syllable of "Pleas-", because Tony's eyes flew back open, and shining brightly out of them, amidst burning fire of fear and pain, was _Tony._

"-_S- St._", leaning into the Steve's touch, Tony spoke, his voice absolutely wrecked, husky and crackling as it rasped into the silence, before he gave up on the word that everyone knew he was trying to say, replacing it with another, "_C-c-Ca-"_

Shooting a mystified look at Bruce, and receiving one even more so in return, Steve answered, "Shh, Tony. Breathe. You're okay…"

Tony shook his head vigorously in frantic disagreement, his eyes blowing wide with agony, rolling back in his head, and he fell back into darkness with the unknown request still echoing on his lips.

* * *

_(2) __Sunday Evening_

"-definitely did the right thing calling for me immediately. It's astronomically good news that he seemed at least semi-aware of himself when he woke, however it really is simply too early to know definitively." The young doctor concluded, tucking Tony's inured arm back under the cover as he finished his check-up.

Turning to his rapt audience of two, he continued, "His arm will need casting once the swelling decreases, probably early next week. Please also be mindful of any coughing or difficulty breathing, as I'm quite concerned about the amount of water he swallowed. Dr Banner, I'm assuming you are quite capable and willing to keep an eye on this particular patient?"

"Of course. I generally end up forced into that role by this lot any way." Bruce answered, shaking the doctor's proffered hand.

"I admit that I did get that impression. Now, if there's nothing else, I really must be going. Please forgive my hastiness gentlemen, but the quake has us all rushed off our feet, not to mention stacked to capacity in the worst possible way." Shaking Steve's hand, the doctor nodded his farewell and took his departure, leaving Steve and Bruce to slump back into their seats on each side of the bed.

"So. Just wait and see?" Steve asked, reaching for Tony's hand again.

Bruce nodded, "Essentially. I mean, the fact that he woke is fantastic, and he _definitely _knew who you were, but really, beyond that…"

"-wait and see." came the answer from the door, as Clint strode in balancing four cups of coffee and a take away bag with incredible ease.

Taking his own seemingly pre-determined perch on the foot of Tony's bed, the archer passed the coffee and pressed a paper bag on each of the other men, adding the quite self-explanatory, "Food."

Seeing Steve turn his nose up at it slightly, Clint pushed it closer, adding, "Eat, Cap, You know you're going to need all your strength to keep Tony in that bed once he wakes."

Steve accepted the bag with a fond nod of agreement, ignoring the fact that he'd just been soundly manipulated in favour of acknowledging the truth of the statement.

For a moment, the sound of rustling paper and chewing filled the room, until finally Clint asked, "What exactly are we 'waiting to see?'"

Bruce snorted into his coffee, before answering, "He woke a little while ago. We're pretty sure he knew who Steve was, but he was pretty out of it."

"That's great! Can't keep Ironman down. Cos he can fly, you know. Seriously though, That's- ", the archer didn't really seem to know how to express the level of his happiness, but thankfully, Steve and Bruce's grins said they understood perfectly.

It was Steve who thought to ask, "He kept saying Ca- Ca.. like it was the beginning of a wor-"

"Oh man! Carrie! He had to be asking about the little girl…" Clint burst out, his excitement spilling over into his hands as he gestured wildly, "It was the damndest thing- wait. Have either of you actually heard what happened?"

Both men shook their heads, and Steve followed up, replying, "No, I know he was helping someone before he ended up in the water- but…"

"Oh my god- no! Well, yes…but- here. Watch it." Clint fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, before coming up triumphant with his phone.

One hand fiddling with his phone, the archer pointed at Bruce with the other, and snapped his fingers in a universal 'come here' signal, pointing to the floor space at the end of the bed. As Bruce obeyed, Clint reached out to grasp blindly at Steve's sleeve, tugging ineffectually until the super soldier deigned to move, getting to his feet and allowing Clint to draw him around to the other side of the bed. His right hand unconsciously resting gently against Tony's blanket covered leg, Steve leaned forward to see the phone over Clint's shoulder.

Within seconds, they were watching a YouTube clip, tastefully called: **Tony Stark is an Iron-hard baddass!**

It was a shaky home-shot movie, obviously taken with a 'Starkphone' camera, and then hastily uploaded in the immediate aftermath of the quake.

It opened with a burst of rustling static that merged with the tinny sound of muffled voices, and a dark fuzzy image lit up the screen, morphing into the scarred wood and peeling paint of a public picnic table.

"Smile for the camera, June-bug!", a disembodied male voice called, as the image panned up to focus on a little girl in pigtails and a party hat that declared the wearer the 'birthday bug!'.

The little girl- June, undoubtedly, smiled a huge gappy grin at the camera, one hand reaching up to tug on a pom-pom tipped pipe-cleaner, which formed her 'antennae'.

The party theme was obvious, everything, from the small party favour bags nestled in a pile on the corner of the table, right down to the disposable plates and plastic tablecloth, was adorned with butterflies, bugs and flowers.

There was a cake, thematically in the shape of a large purple butterfly, sitting with pride in the centre of the table, topped with nine unlit candles.

Clint paused the video, sweeping his finger along the progress bar, explaining, "There's a fair bit of talking and stuff in here – hang on, okay. Now.", and he hit play again, lifting the camera higher and tilting it to give the other two a better view.

The image had zoomed out, the wider view now including a large group of children gathered about the table, as the same voice as before called,"... Ready?! Happy birthday to..."

The words of the song became a cacophonous mess as a dozen or so young voices joined in, the overly familiar tune recognisable only by the general melody.

The song started to wind down, someone called, "Make a wish sweethea-", and the camera suddenly lost focus, streaks of blurring image making the picture unrecognisable as it recorded in a wildly unbalanced arc.

Shouts of fright and a buzz of panic erupted, and a voice wad heard clearly over the commotion- "Quake! Everyone down, under the table! Hold hands! Is everyone here? Who's got Sonya?"

A second voice, older, but not yet adult answered, laced with fear and shaky courage, "I've got her, Mrs Wilson!"

The person holding the camera swivelled again, and a sideways image appeared from the fuzzy darkness, showing a young boy, maybe 14, holding a toddler.

The first voice, that of Mrs Wilson, sounded again, "Good boy, Tommy. Hold onto her- come here Jack, Shhh, you're okay… Daniel, are you-", the image suddenly changed, shifting to focus on a young woman, likely Mrs Wilson, as she reached for a small crying boy.

"I'm right here, honey- All you kids okay? Is everyone here- both the twins? I see Ann, where- oh, good", came the calm response from the holder of the camera, the image panning over several upturned heads, eyes wide and frightened.

"Oh my god- there's a little girl near the river!" came the horrified voice of Mrs Wilson, and the current blurred image jostled as its holder shifted to see where the woman was pointing.

The camera tilted up to light on a small figure in the near distance, just close enough to make out the pink ribbon that trailed out of a messy bow at the back of her pink dress, and the abject fear on her face.

"Shit – she's stuck, that banks going to go. I should- I can't…she's too far away. My weight would- I'd never make it-" Daniel lamented, but before he could continue, or decide to move, a voice screamed a name.

"CARRIE!"

And someone else moved.

Appearing from behind Daniel, streaking into view of the camera, a man, in a ball cap and khaki's, sprinted across the neatly kept lawn, something other than human capabilities driving him to almost ridiculous speed.

"Oh- **go!**_Run. C'mon. Run, run, run…_", it became almost a chant beneath the camera holder's voice, egging the man on as he dashed across the park.

The video ended with Tony Stark crash tackling a 6 year old into his protective embrace just as the river bank beneath his feet collapsed, both of them disappearing into the swirling darkness of the water.

The hospital room was silent for a moment, only the sound of Bruce's tightly controlled breathing echoing within the white walls.

And then Clint said, "This shit's gone viral. It's already got almost 100,000 hits. You're boyfriends a hero, Cap. Just in case, you now, you weren't aware."

Steve turned slightly to look at Tony's pale face and closed eyes, snorting "As if I could have any doubts. Not after your tirade earlier- "He's a goddamn superhero!". Tony's gonna love that."

Clint groaned, dropping his face into his hands, "I'm going to need to spend the next three years living under a rock. That's going to be his fall back _Everytime._"

Steve noted that Clint didn't attempt to refute what he'd said, though.

Breaking into the conversation, looking a little less green around the edges, Bruce asked, "The little girl- do we know what hospital they took her to?" looking to Clint for an answer.

The archer shrugged, "I'm not sure, probably Mercy – it's closest. Find Phil, I'm sure Shield already knows."

"Yeah, okay. Keep an eye on him Steve- I'm going to go see what I can do about an update on her condition, for next time he wakes." Bruce answered, such surety in his voice, belaying any of the lingering fears he may have had about Tony's state whenever he actually woke again.

As Bruce left, Steve moved back around the bed to slump down into his brittle seat, ignoring the creaking and crunching of plastic, except to grin at Clint's sympathetic wince, presumably for the poor chair.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Clint said, "So, sleeping beauty woke?"

"Yeah- The doctors said it was a great start, although to not get our hopes up, because he may not have been 100% lucid." Steve explained, before adding, "He woke up. How the hell I'm 'not meant to get my hopes up' I have no idea."

"Yeah. Get your hopes up, Cap. Who knows, your hopes may have serum enhanced healing properties", Clint nodded seriously, only the twinkle in his eyes revealing the teasing undercurrent.

At Steve's raised eyebrow, Clint snorted and shook his head with a rueful grin, "Sorry – stress must be getting to me. Seriously though – You need to hope. If you haven't got hope, what have you got?"

Steve nodded, taking the advice as it was offered, replying, "Thanks Clint."

His eyes narrowed as he took in Clint's fidgeting form, eyes widening with slight concern as he caught two aborted movements toward the door, when no sound had emanated from the hallway beyond. Not one to beat around the bush, Steve said, "Not to be rude, but have you slept yet, because you seem kind of, um, _high._"

Clint immediately froze, all the tells of his restlessness disappearing as though they'd never been, before he relaxed again, almost as abruptly, a hand running through his hair with a sigh.

"No. I tried- just, I can't-", he waited a beat, as if contemplating, before he continued, "Please take into account that I'm already kicking myself, and nothing you say could make me feel any worse- Well, actually, it probably could, and I'd probably deserve it, because what I did was just _so stupid,_ but I already feel absolutely shit-house about it-"

"Clint-" Steve tried interrupting, his eyes wide at the drivel that was pouring from the archers mouth.

Clint cut him off in turn, to say brusquely, "This is my fault, you know."

Steve blinked. "What? How is- _What_ is your fault?" he asked, nonplussed.

Clint gestured to Tony, looking so absolutely hateful of himself that Steve wanted to protest immediately, but knowing his team as he did, his _family_ as he did, he asked, "How is Tony drowning your fault?"

"Okay- not the actual drowning part. I didn't do that, although If I'd been paying more attention, I might have been able to help, or at least stop him. Not that he would have wanted to be stopped, what with the little girl, but at least he-"

"Clint." Steve broke in, the single word a sentence.

Clint nodded, continuing, "- wouldn't have been in as long. No, what's my fault is the fact that he had a flashback, swallowed a shit tonne of water and passed out."

Steve raised an eyebrow, frowned and opened his mouth, but Clint continued before he could speak.

"I touched the fucking reactor. He was underwater, drowning and doing remarkably well. He was fairly calm, considering. And then I touched the fucking arc reactor and he just- he lost it. If I hadn't, he probably would have swum himself to the damn surface and walked out, once we got that rock off. He might have been okay. Not – _this._" He gestured to Tony's lax form, falling silent, head bowed as he waited for recriminations.

That wouldn't come.

"It was an accident- okay, so a stupid and mindless accident, but you didn't set out to cause him to flashback." Steve protested, leaning forward in his seat to try and meet Clint's eyes.

"Yeah, but-" Clint tried, futilely.

"For god's sake Clint, you were _trying to save_ him!" Steve exclaimed.

"I should have been better!" Clint responded angrily.

Steve's voice was a wrecked rasp, as he replied, "_Well-_ _at least you were there"._

Clint was silent for a second, as he gaped at Steve, and then, "No, Steve- You got him out! You saved him!"

"If Clint hadn't touched the reactor, if Steve had gotten there sooner, if Natasha hadn't made Clint wait, if Thor and Brue hadn't been across town, if I hadn't included him in the op, and if Tony hadn't tried to save that little girl, he'd be fine. But we did, and he did, and he's not, and if you two idiots don't shut up, you'll wake him." it was all delivered in Phil Coulson's signature quiet smoothness, brutal in its effectiveness, for all its genteel nature.

Silence filled the room as Steve and Clint stared at the man in the doorway, and then Phil sighed, his tone gentler as he continued, "We all feel guilty for something, rightly or wrongly, and the only person who can bestow forgiveness is in that bed. I've already had Natasha's injures looked at- all minor, and she's gone home to get some sleep. I know you're going to stay, but you should try and get some rest as well, Steve. Barton, you're with me. "

Steve nodded his thanks, glad that their handler hadn't tried to move him from Tony's side. He could see that Clint also wanted to protest, but he begrudgingly allowed Phil to pull him from the bottom of the bed, and guide him from the room. Steve caught a glimpse of the tight embrace that the archer was pulled into as the door closed behind them.

The room was silent again, an almost hollow quality to the quiet, that Steve couldn't say was particularly welcome, nor unwelcome.

"Mff- S…"

Steve's head snapped up from where it was propped against his hand, thinking that he might have imagined the quiet breathy sigh, wishful thinking and all that, but Tony's eyes were open slits of glazed and glassy brown, starting vaguely towards him.

"Tony, hey-"

"C- ca- g'rl?" Tony managed after a few seconds, and Steve had to smile, at the tenacity, the stubbornness, and the complete and utter selflessness.

"We're finding out. Shh- "

But Tony was already gone again, eyes slipping closed with exhaustion, question still unanswered.

* * *

_(3) __Sunday night_

"-half a million hits, which is, quite frankly, ridiculous, but I will admit, it is doing wonders for your image, from a PR point of view. And your image can always stand to have wonders done for it. The hike in Stark Industries stock value, is of course, purely coincidental, and I will not be giving you any of the credit, Mr Stark."

Steve leant against the door frame, listening as Pepper Potts chatted quietly to her best friend, cradling his lax hand in the delicate strength of her own.

"And of course, you've succeeding in creating me more work- I've had no fewer than 14 individual requests for interviews, and a further 28 enquiries. Everyone wants to cover the 'hero of the hour' angle, which for this hour, and likely the next several days, is apparently you. Well done, Mr Stark."

Steve snorted, and Pepper looked up at him with a grin, only the tense pinch at the corners of her eyes belying her worry, "You weren't gone very long, did you even leave the building?"

"Of course I did. What- I did!" He protested at her raised eyebrow, disbelief in every line of her face.

"Steven Rogers, the entrance walkway does not count as 'outside'", she intoned, a smile and shake of her head meeting his sheepish 'busted' look.

"It totally does. I just – I couldn't go any further. You were right, I needed the fresh air, a moment to clear my mind and take a deep breath." He answered with a thankful nod.

She shook her head, raking her too knowing eyes over his tired face, replying, "What you actually need is several hours sleep."

"What I actually need is for Tony to wake up, but I'll settle for a short walk for now." Steve responded, padding across the room to lean against the bed, his hand settling gently on Tony's shoulder as he scanned for any signs of change that had happened while he was gone.

"You and me both, Steve" she said softly, her free hand reaching to squeeze the one Steve extended to her.

Steve grinned softly, "Half a million hits – that's just… It's not causing you any actual trouble is it?" he asked, knowing that was the last thing Tony would have wanted. Unless he was deliberately trying to cause Pepper trouble, in which case, he usually came out owing Pepper several new pairs of heels.

"No. Actually, it's fantastic. Everything has been positive so far, except for a few nay-Sayers, who have all been shut down immediately. They're running the footage, both of the rescue, and Clint's passionate defence, every hour on the hour, and several websites have reported crashes due to the volume of traffic… It's just- I think the world may finally have realised that while Tony Stark may be in the Ironman suit, Ironman is in Tony Stark just as much."

Steve nodded, a smile breaking out as he replied, "It's about time. We know it. The world knows it. Two down, one to go."

Looking down at the man that lay between them, in unison they both said, "Tony."

The beat of silence stretched out between them, and then Pepper asked, "The others – they're all okay?"

"I'm not sure if okay is the word I'd use, everyone is still pretty worried, but physically they're fine. Thor's still helping with the damage from the quake, but Phil took Natasha and Clint home. I just ran into Bruce downstairs, and sent him home too. He's stretched pretty thin and needs to decompress- and he's exhausted from transforming earlier. But he came to tell me that the little girl, Carrie, was taken to Mercy, and has a great prognosis for a full recovery with no setbacks. Tony saved her life. "

Leaning in close, Pepper whispered quietly, "You hear that Tony? You did good. So good," squeezing Tony's hand as she slowly got to her feet, she added to Steve, "I have to get back to the office, but I'll come by again as soon as I can. Let me know the second he wakes up properly, please?"

"Of course", Steve agreed, without preamble, helping her into the jacket that was draped over the back of the seat.

She pressed a kiss to Tony's cheek, her hand lingering against the side of his face for a moment, before she stood, and pulled Steve into a hug, saying quietly, "Get some sleep, Steve", before she gracefully left the room. The clicks of her heels echoed back to Steve as she moved down the hall, until they faded into the general buzz of the rest of the hospital.

Sinking into the vacated chair, Steve sighed, his exhaustion heavy and cloying.

He couldn't sleep. Everytime he closed his eyes, Steve could see Tony, terrified and thrashing in the hazy grey lit water, brown eyes huge and blank with crushing fear.

So he didn't close his eyes.

Instead, he'd mapped out every tiny cut, every blossoming bruise that his eyes could find, storing them away for later attention, knowing that there was a myriad of others beneath the blankets that he was yet to discover.

With no one there to see it, he slumped forward, burying his head in his crossed arms, able to feel the cool tips of Tony's fingers against his arm.

His eyes itched and stung, and his throat felt tight and his tongue swollen against the back of his mouth, but he didn't cry, instead he just stared into the blackness of his arms, waiting to see it become water, and for Tony to float beneath the waves of his imagination, grey and sickly and dead.

The fingers against his arm twitched, and Steve's head lifted slightly, his wet blue eyes meeting barely aware brown, and Steve knew what Tony was waiting for, kept struggling to consciousness for, was fighting to stay awake for.

"You saved her. She's okay. Carrie- she's fine." He said slowly, clearly, and Tony's lips curved upwards slightly, and his eyes dipped closed.

And a strand of Steve's hair was tugged weakly between two finger tips, until he laid his head back down against Tony's waist, and they both slept.

* * *

_(4) __Monday Morning – dawn._

"Hey, Cap?"

The voice from the doorway woke him immediately, and Steve sat up straight with a jerk, blinking as Clint froze halfway into the room to apologise, "God, you were asleep, sorry! I was just-"

"Its fine, Clint, I'm awake now. How is everyone this morning?" Steve interrupted before Clint could prostrate himself on the floor and beg for forgiveness.

Still some guilt issues there, he saw.

"Uh. Yeah, sorry again. Um, Everyone is fine, they'll all be by during the day. Nat was reporting to Shield, and Thor is still helping with the clean-up, because, well: Thor. Bruce shouldn't be too far behind me. How is he?"

"I don't know. He woke up twice more yesterday afternoon and evening, and I told him that he saved the girl, and he hasn't woke up since then, that I know of." Steve recalled, standing up to stretch, and wandering into the bathroom to use the facilities and wash his face quickly.

He came out again just as Clint was clambering up onto the bottom of the bed, and how the archer could literally clamber, without jostling the cot once, was beyond Steve's mental capabilities, but that was how it happened.

"That's good, I suppose. Good news about the girl, too. " Clint added, settling into a cross-legged position that indicated he planned to be there a while.

Steve nodded, stopping on his feet near the bed, "Do you know what time the doctors supposed to be coming around?" he asked.

Clint shook his head, replying "No, they're still pretty busy after the quake, but things are starting to settle some. If we don't see him in the next hour or so, I'd suggest someone, and by someone, I mean Bruce, go and ask."

"Volunteering my services again, I see." Bruce said as he wandered into the room, three large take away cups balanced in his grasp. "Coffee?" he asked, offering a cup to Steve and then Clint.

"Thanks, Bruce." Steve said, accepting the cup and taking a large mouthful, hoping to wake his sluggish brain up, a la Tony Stark style.

Bruce reached for Tony's chart, checking to see if any further notifications had been made since the day before, and frowning when he noticed there hadn't been. "I assume this is what my services were volunteered for?"

Clint nodded, "Yup, if we don't hear from the doc soon, we thought we'd get you to venture out into medical land, seeing as how you're fluent in the language."

"Fair enough." Bruce agreed, putting the chart back, and moving to place a hand against Tony's forehead, "He's looking a bit better though, and not running too hot, so that's good. That arms still pretty swollen though-"

"Is his-? It is!" Clint exclaimed gleefully delighted, continuing, "Look, his nose is twitching!"

Steve smiled, seeing that Clint was right, as every few seconds, Tony's nose would twitch slightly. "Tony?" he asked quietly, but received no response.

Clint shucked the lid of his coffee cup, and waved the mostly empty cup near Tony's face, and slowly, his brown eyes blinked open, focused on the cup, and followed its slowly wafting form from side to side, before following the attached hand and arm to its owners face.

"Gaw- f-fuck off Barton, tha's jus' cruel…" He moaned, pain settling into the heavy curve of his lips, pulling them tight as his eyes rolling away, turning his head to find Steve.

"Hey, Tony" Steve said softly, smiling when brown eyes lit on him.

"Carr-" he stopped to clear his throat weakly, before trying again, "Carrie?"

Steve could see from the look in his eyes, that Tony did vaguely remember the night before, so he wasn't worried as he reassured, "Yes, she's fine. You saved her"

Tony started to nod, thought better of it with a wince, and said, "Tha's good."

There was a beat, a pause, and then he followed it up with a woebegone face, and "Coffee?"

And Steve smiled freely for the first time since the quake.

He started to protest, to say that there was no way Tony was getting coffee out of him, at least until the doctors gave the okay, but it didn't matter, because Tony never wanted it anyway, he was already asleep again.

"Well, that was…" Clint said, chugging back the last dregs of his coffee and binning the cup.

"That was very good. Very, very good." Bruce says, sipping his own, although it was likely tea, not coffee, before continuing, "He's awake, lucid, snarking. All is right in the world. I'll go let a doctor know, and see when someone will be around to check on him."

As Bruce left to hunt down a doctor, Steve sunk back into the seat that screamed beneath his weight, but miraculously held out.

"Just- that's just so wrong. That poor- You know what, I can't let this go on. Gimme a minute" Clint said, hightailing it out the door after Bruce.

Only, he was back within seconds, and Steve grinned as he sank into the plush armchair the archer had somehow acquired, purloined from he didn't want to know where.

Taking Tony's hand in his, Steve was able to see a light where only darkness had been before.

* * *

_(5) __Monday Afternoon_

Whether it was because he was now reassured that his actions hadn't been in vain, and that Carrie was okay, or perhaps it was because he was feeling better, but Tony had slept peacefully through most of Monday morning, and well into the afternoon.

The doctor had come by just before lunch, apologising for the delay, and had done a quick cursory check over, stating that nothing seemed to have changed, other than some minor improvements, and that the swelling of the arm had started to go down, all of which were positive signs. He had said that he wanted to be alerted as soon as Tony woke again, as nothing was quite as important as actually talking to the patient to gauge how they were really feeling.

Steve, feeling much better after his several hours of much needed rest during the night, and a shower and change of clothes earlier during the day, had spent most of the afternoon sitting idly by Tony's bed. When not talking quietly to his sleeping lover, he'd spent his time listening to the iPod that Clint had brought, or drawing with the supplies that Bruce had dropped in for him.

The majority of the day he'd had company, as different members of the team, and Pepper had all dropped by, most several times. Now though, as late evening approached, probably nearing 5pm, Steve was once again alone, his hand holding Tony's as had become customary, as he spoke quietly.

"-and they're saying that you may have broken some sort of record for the most hits in the shortest amount of time." Steve said, pressing play once again, the footage starting to roll across his screen.

He wondered how many of those 'hits' where his. He'd watched the footage so many times, that he could see it all happening in his mind's eye, but it didn't stop him from re-watching, repeatedly.

His phone fell back to darkness as Tony and the girl where swept beneath the water, and Steve sighed, starting to scroll up to close the browser, when a 'related link' caught his eye, and without much further thought he hit it.

**Tony FUCKING Stark. QFT. **was the video title, and Steve hit play.

And as he watched, Tony and Carrie where swept beneath the water, the bright pink of her dress staying visible for longer than the darkness of his clothes, as the where dragged beneath the surface.

Only this video didn't stop there. That's where it started.

As he watched, Clint and Natasha appeared in the shot, hovering painstakingly on the bank, Natasha obviously having to dissuade Clint from diving straight in. The mother showed up, and Clint caught her about the waist, and as Steve watched, the three of them got into some unheard conversation while _his lover drowned_.

Steve recoiled from the phone, yet was unable to stop watching, his heart in his mouth as he all but silently begged Clint and Natasha to do something, despite having Tony's hand clutched in his right at that very second.

Finally, _finally, _Clint dove in, to pull the little girl out, and Steve had almost screamed in frustrated agony when the camera had followed the girl and her parents across the park, leaving Tony, leaving Steve unable to see if they saved Tony.

And then Natasha was back, and Tony's presence revealed, and suddenly the camera was back at the rivers edge, panning out over the water, setting to watch as Clint and Natasha bobbed above the water in random intervals every other minute or so. Their desperation and panic was visible even from the distance of the camera, and Steve's heart ached at the terror and frustration he could see mounting in them. Their eyes flew to the banks every time they surfaced, and Steve knew what they were looking for.

Him.

And finally he arrived, disappearing beneath the water.

Steve already knew what had happened, knew exactly what was going on beneath that empty expanse of river, but watching and waiting for himself to surface was agony.

And then Natasha and Clint were stroking toward the bank, and being pulled from the water.

Then he was there, striding out, hunched protectively over the form cradled in his arms, and Steve dropped the phone unheeded to the bed and wrapped his arms as gently as he could around the real, live Tony, and simply held on.

There was buzzing audio from the abandoned phone, but Steve ignored it, intent on fully convincing himself that Tony was alive and warm in his arms, not that cold, lifeless looking _corpse _he'd just watched himself pull from the water.

_"He's Ironman. He's Tony Fucking Stark. He's a goddamn superhero."_

"Is that- oh my god- is that Clint!?" came a weak voice from above him, but filled with such unholy glee that Steve started to laugh, almost hysterically, nodding gently against Tony's side.

Pulling back after a moment, he said, "Yes, that was Hawkeye gallantly coming to your defence, so don't tease him about it."

Tony looked absolutely dismayed.

Until Steve added, "Too much".

"Oh, don't worry I won't" Tony said with what really amounted to a giggle, before finishing, "Nothing could possibly be 'too much'".

Steve grinned, and sitting up slightly, he pressed the call button for the doctor, saying, "Oh don't you go giving me that look. You've been half delirious for the past day and a half, the doctor needs to see you."

Tony looked disgruntled, but either capitulated, or was too tired to argue, as he simply nodded carefully, with a wide yawn.

"How are you feeling?" Steve asked, leaning back toward Tony, so he didn't have to strain to be heard.

"Like that time I dropped a building on myself, but you know – worse." Tony said glibly, not really answering the question, instead asking one of his own, "Everyone else okay?"

Steve nodded, replying "Clint and Nat have a few bruises and the occasional cut, and everyone is worried, apart from that, you get all the mother henning in the near future."

Tony groaned theatrically, or maybe just with the correlating requirement of necessity.

"Well, you seem to be livelier than the last few times I've seen you, Mr Stark", the doctor said happily as he entered the room.

"Steve! You left me vulnerable and defenceless, at the mercy of- " Tony shot out, his teasing tone hiding the serious undertone of true fear from the doctor, but not from Steve.

"Oh relax, you baby. I haven't left your side." Steve reassured. Mocked. Reassuringly mocked. Mocked reassuringly.

Well, it was both mocking, and reassuring, and Tony both relaxed and stuck his tongue out at Steve.

The doctor smiled slightly at the byplay, hard pressed to believe that these 'men' were one of Planet Earths first lines of defence. But he'd seen the footage, of the chitaurii battle, and fights since, he knew what he was dealing with. Soldiers. Warriors. Heroes.

"My name is Dr Gale. If I may, Mr Stark, I have a few questions, and then I can answer any you might have." he said, more so than asked, immediately continuing with, "You're on some pretty strong pain medication, but is there anywhere, individual to the entirety of you bruised and battered body, that hurts an undue amount?"

Tony stared at him, and then cracked up laughing, before gasping softly to hold his left arm tightly to his stomach as tears sprung to his eyes.

The doctor, eased him back into the pillows, gently settling is arm back by his side, saying, "Yes, that would be your broken arm. I was going to say that I would not attempt to move it, but I see you have already discovered this."

Tony breathed in a gasping breath, holding it until he had himself back under control, before asking, "How bad is the break, and what is the recovery time?"

"Tony…" Steve said warningly, god, the man had only been properly awake for a few minutes, and Steve could already see plans for engineering one armed going through his lovers mind.

The doctor smirked, but answered, "It's a fairly clean break, but in two places. You're looking at a 2 month recovery span, 6 weeks in a cast."

"What! No. No casts." Tony protested.

"Yes, a cast." Steve countered.

"I'll just cut it off" Tony argued.

"No, you won't" Steve shot back calmly.

Tony sighed, waving at the doctor to continue, and Steve knew he hadn't won the argument, they were merely at a cease fire.

The doctor smiled, and decided to leave that argument to the couple, pretty sure of the outcome, if the steely determination in blue eyes was anything to judge by, continuing, "You also had a dislocated shoulder, again, your left, so that will be tender for a while as well."

"You've got 16 stitches down your right thigh, which we'll have to watch closely for infection. Walking will be painful for a small amount of time, but once the slight swelling goes down, it should be easily bearable."

The doctor paused for questions, and when they didn't come, he finished, "You took a hit to the head, and have some bruising about your lower back, so we're monitoring carefully for concussion and internal bleeding, but so far, everything looks fine. Any questions?"

Tony blinked, looking a little overwhelmed, and it was Steve who asked, "He swallowed a lot of water, and likely breathed some as well- anything we need to watch for there?"

"His lungs look clear at the moment, but keep an eye out for coughing and cold/flue like symptoms. There are horror stories of secondary lapses after near drowning's, and lung infections for swallowed water, and we'd hate to miss something like that."

"So basically," Tony said, "I'm okay?"

"You, Mr Stark, are basically a very, very lucky man, and that little girl even luckier." Doctor Gale intoned, adding, "I'm sorry I'm in such a rush, but we're spread pretty thin, so I have to go, but don't hesitate to call me if I'm needed. Also – self-administered morphine is something I'm assuming you are familiar with, considering your many visits to our humble home over the recent years?"

Tony nodded, fingering the button of his morphine administer in demonstration, and nodding, the doctor left them with a pat to Tony's good shoulder and a brief smile to Steve.

There was silence for a moment as Tony settled back into his blankets and pillows, and Steve relaxed into his chair, the two just looking at each other as they took in exactly how lucky they apparently had been.

Finally, Steve nodded at the morphine button, saying, "You should press that, and get some more sleep."

Shaking his head, Tony answered, "I've been asleep for long enough, I just- water?"

For a second, Steve wasn't sure what he was asking about, the river? And then he realised that Tony just wanted a drink of water. Blushing, he fetched the small paper cup, and half-filled it, sticking a straw out the top. He helped Tony take several small sips before his lover pulled away with a grimace, saying, "She's really okay? I was so afraid I'd- I actually…?"

Steve smiled gently, picked up Tony's hand in his and squeezed gently, saying, "Her name is Carrie-Ann Gracelyn, she's six, her favourite colour is pink, she likes kittens- fluffy white ones, and you're her biggest hero."

It was Tony's turn to blush, and Steve savoured the unusual sight, adding "You saved her life. Risked your own, with no thought to the consequences. I am so, _so_ proud of you."

The pink flush turned scarlet, and Tony waved the praise away, unsure how to accept it, "Don't Steve. Please. Just- I couldn't do anything else."

"I know. I'm proud of you, and I love you and-" Steve replied softly, leaning in close, so it was almost a whisper.

"I'm actually really tired suddenly. I think I might…" Tony, his cheeks still highlighted with points of pink, closed his eyes.

Steve knew an avoidance technique when he saw one, and he smiled at Tony's complete inability to accept praise, but soft snuffling snores soon filled the room, so Steve let him be.

* * *

_(6) __Monday Evening_

Steve, half turned in his chair to watch the news presentation on the ceiling mounted TV, winced as the bridge started to fall, grinning in relief when a very large green hand caught the broken lip, and a second hand caught the car that had just tumbled off the edge.

"Watch this part! The Hulk just grabs the beam and – Oh yeah, perfect shot big green!" Clint crowed, swivelling slightly on the bottom of Tony's hospital bed to offer his hand toward Bruce in a 'high-5' position.

Bruce stared at it for a moment, but a Clint's wheedling, "Come on man, don't leave me hanging…" he rolled his eyes, and brought his own hand up against Clint's.

"Really. Someone's failing to uphold the rage monster image." Came the soft raspy voice from the bed, and as one, five heads turned to watch as Tony blinked at Bruce disappointedly.

Bruce grinned, stuttering out some flimsy excuse, which Tony immediately shot back with, "Nope, failed. You are a failure, Bruce Banner. I cannot be associated with you anymore"

"Has anyone got something I can fail at immediately?" Natasha asked from her perch by the window, and Tony yelped in outrage or heartbreak, one could never be sure with Tony.

"How are you feeling this fine eve, Anthony?" Thor rumbled with concern, not a fan of his usually lively friend's waxen pallor and raspy voice.

Tony grinned, replying, "And that's why Thor is my favourite. I'm fine, if fine means having been run over by the quinjet."

"Indeed, the Captain was telling us of your unbelievable luck- a few relatively minor injuries from such a dangerous adventure! It is well said that you are a man of lady luck, and that fortune smiles upon you." Thor intoned seriously, grinning at Tony enthusiastically, and Tony really hoped he wasn't gearing up for one of his massive bear hugs.

"Yup, I'm a lucky bastard alright," Tony agreed, continuing with a gesture upward toward the TV, "Really Bruce, this is just a dismal effort. Did I just see Hulk letting people _climb_ down him to get to the ground? Image, buddy. Image."

Bruce laughed, flicking the remote toward the TV to turn it off, knowing that everyone was much more interested in talking to Tony than continuing with their time-filling activity. "Really, like you're one to speak- I think this little incident is 100% a-grade proof that Tony Stark does indeed have a heart, and enough courage to fill it."

Tony shifted uncomfortably, but smiled at Bruce's words, replying seriously, "I was just hoping there was a camera nearby to catch my heroics."

A beat of silence filled the room, and then surprisingly, it was Natasha who burst out laughing, "God, Stark- don't say that, especially not like that, in public, ever. You'll never convince anyone you have a heart ever again."

"Feeling better then?" Steve asked, moving his seat back closer to the bed, so Tony didn't have to strain himself trying to look over his shoulder.

"Yeah- I mean, I know I have a blunt force weapon instead of an arm for the next few weeks, and, fuck, I hate stitches, but yeah- " He trailed off, a smile on his face.

"A few months actually", Steve corrected, and Tony scowled, but lightened up slightly when Steve added, "Casts come in 'Ironman red'. I asked."

Clint, laughed softly, and not being one for comforting with words, squeezed Tony's ankle, waited for Tony to acknowledge his relieved grin with a matching one.

Only Tony didn't.

Something heavy and low settled in Clint s stomach. _Dread_.

He squeezed harder, his archery-strengthened hands tightening enough to leave bruises.

Tony didn't even flinch.

* * *

**_(7) _****_ Monday Night_**

Tony stared over the doctor's shoulder, a mulish look setted on his face, avoidance at its best.

Doctor Gale's voice was sympathetic, but matter of fact, as he spoke, "I'm not going to coddle you with false hope Mr Stark. We have done further testing, and there is a possibility, a distinct possibility in fact, that your spine has been severely damaged, and you may not have the use of your legs. However, there is also a decent chance that once onsite swelling of your lower spinal area recedes, full or partial movement may return"

Tony rolled over and shut his eyes.

* * *

**_(8) _****_Thursday Evening._**

The room was dark and quiet, the very air depressive and miserable, especially compared to the jovial atmosphere that had filled it less than three days ago.

Steve sighed, shifting in his seat again, his gaze on the pages of the novel he was supposedly reading, but despite being almost halfway through, Steve couldn't have told anyone what it was even about.

Three days.

Three days in which Tony had no movement in his legs, the prognosis not having changed since that first night.

Three days in which Tony hadn't said a single 'Tony' word. He'd asked for a drink, responded to the doctor's tests and questions, seemed to listen when Steve spoke, but not once over the three days, had he smiled, or pulled a face, or asked about Dummy, or admired Steve's drawings, or admired Steve.

He'd just been withdrawn, quiet, and sullen.

And today, he'd barely said two words, retreating further and further into himself.

Steve understood- no, he didn't understand, but he could sympathise that this must be hitting Tony, virile, active, independent Tony, like a barrow of bricks, and Steve understood him needing time to process in his own way.

Steve wanted to be there for him, _would _be there for him, but Tony had to let him, and so far, all Tony was letting Steve do, was see him hurt.

Tony flinched violently in the bed beside him, and Steve dropped the book carelessly to the floor, reaching for him with gentle arms and soothing words.

And then there were the nightmares.

To be honest, Steve had been expecting them from day one. Tony already had the occasional nightmare, usually relating to the portal, Obadiah, or less frequently, Afghanistan, and Steve had expected the traumatic experience of near drowning to worsen them, at least for a while.

Only, the first two days, nothing. And then, Tony had learnt that he might have lost the use of his legs, and the floodgates had opened. He slept barely more than an hour uninterrupted, before the nightmares would start, and sometimes Steve could sooth them away, but usually, Tony woke up a pain riddled, crying mess.

At least he let Steve hold him, although Steve wasn't sure that 'let' was the right word…perhaps 'indifferent' was a better fit.

Tony went still beneath his hands, a whimpering shudder crawling from between tightly pressed lips, and Steve knew the instant he woke.

Steve's voice was soft and unfailingly gentle as he spoke, "You're okay, just breathe. That's it. Shh- I've got you…"

Slowly, Tony's shuddering breaths evened out, and his shaking hands fumbled for the morphine button, Steve reaching to help press it into his fingers.

In the comforting dark of the night, Tony actually curled into him, rather than laying slack and still, or pulling away, and at this first sign of wanting comfort, Steve broached the topic.

"Talk to me" he requested quietly.

Silence stretched out after his words, and Steve waited with literal baited breath, hoping against hope, that Tony woul-

"About what." Came the soft reply, Tony's voice raspy and dry against his shoulder.

"Anything – just, talk to me.", he whispered against the shell of Tony's ear, knowing he was begging, and not caring.

Again the silence stretched, then a breath was drawn in against his throat, and Tony asked, "So. How 'bout them dodgers?"

Steve huffed a puff of laughter, but just said, "You'll walk again"

Tony caved, "I just – What If I don't?"

"You will." Steve's voice was pure certainty.

Tony wavered, seemingly about to pull back, and then instead, pulling Steve closer, breathing his fear, "But what if I don-"

"You will." Conviction emanated from Steve's tone.

"Please, I just. I need-" Tony tried to say, to explain how he was feeling, but fell silent, unable to find the words.

Steve, unsure, but not wanting Tony to withdraw again, afraid he wouldn't get another chance, said softly, "You're always going to be Ironman- you'll find a way- "

Tony actually pushed him back a little at that, the incredulous look on his face _so Tony_ that it set Steve's heart aflutter, as his lover exclaimed, "What? – Of course I will! I _am_ Ironman. I'm not worried about that. I've already half re-designed the suit to compensate if it becomes necessary. I just-"

Steve was nonplussed, but he waited for Tony to continue.

Tony's voice started out sure, but his conviction faded into an uncertain waver, heartbreaking in its fear, "I'm always going to be Iroman, and I could be Tony Fucking Stark if I was just a talking head. It's- …Tony, that I'm worried about."

Steve blinked, completely lost to what Toy was taking about, "I don't understand-" he stared, and then a memory swept through Steve's mind.

_"It's not Tony Stark that I love. You could be a penniless hobo living out of a dumpster somewhere, and I'd still love you. Just like I didn't fall in love with you because of the shiny red and gold armour you wear. It's Tony I love – as brilliant as the sun, and twice as hot. I love his scathing sarcasm and complete and utter disdain for authority. I love how he's a complete pain in the ass, and I wouldn't have him any other way. So long as you're always just Tony, I'll love you forever.'_

Tony could feel the moment that Steve remembered, and he bit out on a half sob, "What if I can't be _that Tony _anymore? I'm not – I won't be the same. What if I can't be _your Tony?_"

"Tony. Sweeth- "Steve started, but what could he say? Tony had a point. Steve wasn't going to stop loving Tony because he couldn't walk. But losing the ability to walk, to be himself could_ fundamentally _change who Tony was.

And that _could_ change how Steve felt about him.

In the end, Steve simply spoke the truth, "My Tony is every version of you that loves me. Walking, talking, peg leg, broken leg, talking head, Man of Iron or Merchant of Death. Every one of them. You can break my heart, make me hurt, become someone I don't like very much, but as long as you love me, you can't stop me loving you."

Tony couldn't speak, couldn't hide the tears that welled up, or the smile that broke across his lips, and he reached for Steve.

Steve, cradling him carefully, so very, very glad to have broken through, whispered quietly, "But you will walk again. I'm not worried. I've seen what you can do with impossible odds. 50/50 should be a cake walk."

* * *

**_(9) _****_Saturday Morning_**

Their conversation that night didn't magically fix everything. Tony was still essentially paralysed from the waist down, and still bitterly terrified that it would be permanent. He was morose, and scared, and angry, and in pain, but he smiled every time he saw Steve, so things were better.

They hit another hurdle Friday morning, when a nurse-aid had appeared, ready to whisk Tony away for a shower, so long as he was prepared to sit in a wheelchair for the duration.

Steve had been so relieved that Tony seemed to be enthusiastic about something, even something as simple as getting properly clean, that the possibility for problems hadn't even occurred to him. Until the nurse turned the shower on to get the temperature right, and Tony, seated outside, facing the falling wall of water, had gone _absolutely waxen_, and his eyes had stared to roll back in his head.

Tony had been mortified, furious and so complexly broken down by everything, that one look at Steve's gentle accepting face had him in tears, and the nurse had cleared out, and let Steve handle his volatile lover. Steve had reassured him that it was okay, that he'd worked through it once, and could do it again, and this time he wouldn't have to do it alone. That it was okay to be angry, and frightened, and embarrassed, but that no one was ever going to look down on him for this fear.

Needless to say, sponge baths had been the staple since then.

The nightmares had continued with a vengeance, and some of them Steve knew, were about the water, the arc reactor, or both, but there were some that Tony refused to talk about, no matter how much Steve cajoled. Steve was sure they had something to do with the loss of his ability to walk, and a deadly fear of talking it into permanence.

There was a knock at the door, startling him out of his thoughts, and Steve looked up in time to see Colonel Rhodes step quietly into the room. Out of uniform, in a simple jeans and polo shirt, Steve could see the Rhodey that Tony would have met when the two were in college.

"Colonel-"

"RHODEY!" came the, honest to god, squeal from the bed, and Tony, showing more initiative and gumption than he had the past week, levered himself into a seated position and would have thrown himself at the officer, if Rhodey hadn't immediately stepped into the wanted embrace. A harsh sounding, but infinity gentle, "Jesus H Christ, you hooligan, what the fuck have you done to yourself now?" escaping his lips as he hugged his friend.

Steve though that some part of him should be jealous, but as JARVIS had said… Rhodey made everything better.

* * *

**_(10) _****_Sunday Evening_**

They'd taken him away just after lunch to get his arm casted, and Steve had smiled sweetly and blown kisses, throwing in a little wave as they'd wheeled him out, hiding a grin at the absolutely petulant look on his lovers face.

He'd come back, not with red, as Steve had expected, but with a pale blue, and he wondered why everyone sniggered every time Steve said it must have been as close to Arc-reactor blue as they'd had.

Tony eventually, once all the others had filed out to get lunch, and do things other than loaf around in Tony's rom all day, after much prodding, had simply said for him to go look in the mirror, and that the colour staring back should be pretty familiar.

Steve had stolen back into the room with a sweet grin on his face, "You matched my eyes" he'd murmured, and leaned down to steal a kiss from upturned lips.

Tony had pressed upward, his mouth slipping open beneath Steve's, and then he'd promptly been_ back underwater, bubbles rushing up his nose-_

Steve had immediately pulled back, his face an apologetic mask of horror, and Tony had shaken his head with fervour, a look of steely determination settling across his features as he'd said, " Oh no. Fuck that. I'm afraid of water, have this fucking thing in my chest, and can't fucking walk. I **am not** having a phobia of kissing. Get over here."

For once, Steve let Tony have his way, his tongue plundering Steve's mouth, before slowly, hesitantly, but with determination, inviting Steve back into his own.

Tony breathed a sigh of relief into Steve's mouth, and Steve mirrored it, because really – not being able to kiss Tony…torture.

The door suddenly opened, and Clint walked in without knocking, moving to perch himself on the end of Tony's bed.

Shielding his eyes, he called out to the footsteps coming up the hall, "Guys, don't come in! There's disgusting face sucking happening in here- I'm trying to save you!"

"Tony pulled back, said, "He's Hawkeye! He's Clint Fucking Barton! He's a goddamn Birdbrain!", and with that, Tony _kicked _him off the bed.

* * *

Epilogue:

In two different hospitals, in two different rooms, there were two different people.

One was a 6 year old girl, curled up in a too large bed, swaddled in blankets as she drew a "Goodbye and thankyou!" note to all the nice doctors and nurses that had looked after her during the week she'd spent in the hospital.

The other was a forty year old man, his arm set in a pale blue cast, a myriad of scratches and vivid bruising marking his skin. He sat on the edge of his bed, swinging his legs a foot off the floor as he scowled at the nurse who indicated the wheel chair he was to sit in, if he ever wanted to leave the hospital.

"Miss Carrie, I have a package for you."

"Mr Stark, a letter has arrived for you."

She opens hers with all the excitement and gusto of a six year old, her fingers peeling back pink paper to reveal a very expensive looking plush kitten, all soft white fur and a cut diamanté collar. There was a card tucked into the collar, and with ease, the little girl read the letter aloud to her parents.

_'Dear Carrie, _

_I understand that you like kittens, fluffy white ones, but cannot have one because of the apartment that you live in, which is really dumb, but that's grownups for you._

_Enjoy the one I sent you, until you live somewhere you can have a real one._

_It was an honour helping such a beautiful, special little girl, and I know you'll grow up fantastic, not dumb._

_Love Tony Stark._

_Ps- Call me Tony._

_PPs – Really, Call me if you like. My number is ***-***-***._

Tony opened his letter, and a small picture frame tumbled out, face down. Engraved on the back, were simply the words.

_'Thankyou, with all my heart.'_

_ Carrie_

He flipped it over, and stared at the image of a tiny blond girl, dressed in pink, sitting by a river bank.


End file.
